


Halfheart: the Rewrite

by Chris_Atola



Category: Dragonheart (1996), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Anglo-Saxon, Battle, Best Friends, Canon Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Friendship, Gen, Healing, Injury, Male-Female Friendship, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-22
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-08 07:43:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/440847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chris_Atola/pseuds/Chris_Atola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron, Hermione and Harry end up in 10th century England partway through Dragonheart, and find themselves up to their necks in trouble. As they attempt to make their way back to the future, they inadvertently make several changes to the original history.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter, Dragonheart, or the quotes I borrowed from the Lost in Space film.
> 
> Please do point out any typos or other mistakes you spot!

There was a flash, and they found themselves standing knee-deep in frigid water, in front of a respectably-sized waterfall surrounded by pale grey rocks of various sizes. Harry noted there was a forest on the right-hand side, and a relatively steep cliff face on the left.

“What happened?” Ron asked, “Where’s the train?”

“I dunno, but look – our trunks are over there by that big rock,” Harry pointed out with his left hand, since Hedwig was perched on his right arm. He made his noisy, squelching way over to the trunks and started checking for anything missing. Hedwig climbed her way onto his shoulder and settled down with a soft hoot.

Hermione looked around and noticed the angle of the sun. “This doesn’t look like the middle of the afternoon...” She pulled her wand out and cast the Point Me spell before comparing the sun’s location to where her wand indicated south to be. “What? That can’t be right. It was about three o’clock on the train, but now it’s more like midday.”

“Something tells me we’re not in Kansas anymore,” Harry commented, turning to look at her.

“Kansas?” Ron asked, “What are you on about? I thought we were in England!”

“Nevermind,” Harry told him, “It’s a Muggle thing.”

“Speaking of which,” Hermione interjected, “I thought the Dursleys didn’t let you watch the telly. When and where did you see _The Wizard of Oz_?”

“It was at my batty old babysitter‘s, before I got my letter,” Harry admitted.

Nothing more was said on the topic. Ron and Hermione made their way over to Harry and inspected their own trunks. Hedwig soon flew off to hunt.

After a few minutes Harry realised something. “Er... I don’t think we’re in the twentieth century anymore: the air’s way too clean. Do you know some sort of translation spell, Hermione? In case people here don’t speak English?”

“I think there’s something in one of my books...” she trailed off as she dug through her trunk and came up with a thick, heavy-looking tome. After a moment she pulled out her wand and cast “ _Interpretorio_ ,” on herself. She straightened to cast it on Ron, but just as she cast it he shifted a bit too far to one side, and the spell hit the rock behind them.

To their utter shock, the rock moved and turned into a large coppery bronze-scaled, horned head, which in turn was attached to a very impressive, scaled body. Harry leapt back and brought out his wand, not wanting to take any chances after the Hungarian Horntail incident. The dragon – for that was what it was – lifted his head and, in an oddly Scottish-sounding accent, asked her, “Now what was that all about, little witch?”

Hermione started, and stammered out, “A...a translation spell. We’re a bit lost and thought the people here might not speak our language. I meant to cast it on my friends...”

“Hermione?” Harry piped up from his ready stance a couple of metres away, “What’s he saying? It sounds a bit like German. Could you maybe cast the spell again so we can follow along too?”

“Oh! Old English? Oh dear!” Hermione paused, shook herself, and cast the spell on Ron and Harry in rapid succession.

 “Where the hell are we?” Ron asked.

“...No, Ron, I think the question is _when_ the hell are we. This _definitely_ isn’t 1995!” Harry told him, watching the dragon intently. He thought this dragon was about the same size as the Horntail he had faced nearly a year ago.

Hermione directed an impressive glare at both of them for their language and turned to the dragon. “I don’t suppose you could tell us the date, sir?”

“Sometime in late August, 996 by the human calendar,” the dragon answered, looking a bit surprised. “What did you mean by 1995?” he asked, turning to Harry.

“That’s where... when... we’re from,” Harry explained with a bit of a grimace. English grammar was certainly not designed with time travel in mind. “We were on our way to school, but something went wrong and... well... here we are.”

“School? So education is available to everyone in the future?” the dragon asked, “Not just wealthy noble children?”

“Yes, but we go to a special school for witches and wizards,” Hermione explained. ”It’s somewhere in... um... Caledonia I think you’d call it. We were somewhere between there and Londinium when, as Harry said, something went wrong.”

“I’m Harry Potter by the way, and these are my friends Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley,” Harry told the dragon.

“I’m afraid you wouldn’t be able to pronounce my name,” the dragon told them wryly.

“Well, we’ll come up with something,” Harry said, “If you don’t mind, I mean.”

The dragon nodded absently, clearly thinking hard about something.

Ron shifted a bit and said, “Maybe we should start thinking about what we’re going to eat. Those sweets off the trolley were quite a while ago.”

Harry and Hermione shared a look, and after a moment Harry admitted, “I don’t know anything about hunting. I know all about dragging food home from the supermarket – Aunt Petunia made me do it often enough – but nothing about skinning or cleaning animals.” Hermione nodded in agreement.

Ron grinned. “S’okay, I’ve had to butcher a few chickens and things for Mum. I just need a knife.”

Hermione quickly transfigured a fist-sized stone into a hunting knife and handed it to Ron, who nodded and marched off into the forest. He returned half an hour later with a couple of rabbits, their throats already cut.

While Ron hunted and then cleaned the rabbits, Harry collected firewood and Hermione inspected the water. “Is there a village upstream, sir?” she asked the dragon.

“No, the water comes from a series of springs about a mile away,” the dragon informed her. Hermione nodded, relieved about the likely lack of water pollution, and thanked him before setting about transfiguring some sticks into three wooden drinking cups.

Harry, upon his return to the waterfall, set about building a fire and, as the dragon once again lay down nearby to bask and watch with carefully-hidden interest, started it with a simple “ _Incendio!_ ”

While the fire burned cheerily Ron and Harry worked together to set up a spit to roast the rabbits on, washing their hands in the icy water before returning to warm up by the fire. “We need soap,” Hermione noted. “I almost wish I were girly enough to use my own, instead of the school soap – then we’d already have some.”

Unnoticed by the three Gryffindors, the dragon blinked in realisation and made his way to the waterfall. He reached in and pulled out a collection of satchels, which he then deposited in front of a very startled Hermione.

“There might be some in one of those bags. I’ve had several dragonslayers leave things behind...” he trailed off, not wanting to elaborate, and settled down in his earlier position a few metres away from the cooking fire.

Hermione gingerly searched the bags, but Harry watched the dragon, his brain working hard. _What happened to the dragonslayers?_ He wondered. _Did he eat them? Can we trust him? Would the spells we know even work on him? Maybe: the translation spell did..._

After searching three of the bags Hermione withdrew her hand with a soft triumphant noise, a wide, relieved smile and a bar of crude soap. She got up to check on their meal and, noting they were almost done, told the boys, “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to get cleaned up before I eat.” She combined it with a pointed look which had both boys following her to the water’s edge. They took turns using the soap, and finally returned to the fireside with cold and wet but clean hands.

Ron used the transfigured knife to divide the rabbits up equally before tucking in. The meat was slightly blackened in places but, as Harry put it, “It beats rabbit food at the Dursleys!”

“Do we even want to know how you caught the rabbits, Ron?” Harry asked.

“I stunned them and then wrung their necks, like I do the chickens back home,” Ron answered matter-of-factly. “I didn’t exactly have a bow to shoot them with.”

Harry and Hermione nodded wordlessly and finished their food in silence.

After eating they drank their fill of water using the wooden cups before returning to the fire once again to plan their next course of action.

“Should we try and get to Hogwarts? Has it been built yet, Hermione? If it has, the Founders might know how to get us back to the future,” Harry suggested.

“Hogwarts was founded about six years ago, local time,” Hermione answered, “But I think we should wait a bit, find out what’s going on around here. I have a feeling there‘s a reason we came here instead of wherever the train was,” she added, seeing the boys’ disbelieving looks.

There was a brief three-way staring match before Harry sighed and asked the dragon, “Do you have any ideas, sir?”

The dragon was about to answer, but was interrupted by hoof-beats approaching and the sound of someone prattling eagerly. “Oh dear,” the dragon sighed, “Another dragonslayer. You might want to hide.”

The three Gryffindors scrambled to put out and cover the fire with rocks, and drag their trunks into the forest and out of sight. Harry pulled out his invisibility cloak and the three of them huddled under it in silence. The dragon made his way into the waterfall after making sure the Gryffindors were out of sight.

The dragonslayer, a perhaps thirty-year-old man on a brown horse, rode over to the waterfall while another man, dressed in simple brown robes, yelled for his attention. Fortunately the translation spell allowed Harry, Ron and Hermione to understand what was said. The other man shouted something about the ‘Ballad of Bowen’ and asked how the dragonslayer, presumably Bowen, wanted it written.

Bowen turned his horse and answered, “Far away!”

The other man, while running to catch up, missed the point and said, “Oh, don’t concern yourself with my safety!” before continuing with something about verse and meter. “Shall I spice it up with a poetical flourish, or just the cold, hard facts?”

Bowen told the man to be quiet lest they be the only cold, hard things in the area.

The other man carried on prattling for a while before Bowen called him by name and shushed him.

Bowen rode closer to the waterfall and seemed to be thinking about going in under it. Just as he seemed about to dismount, the dragon threw something at him, calling, “That’s all that’s left of the last dragonslayer who tangled with me!”

As the dragon continued, Brother Gilbert, the brown-robed man, picked something up out of the water. “If I were you, I’d quit while I was ahead!” Just as the dragon said ‘head’, Gilbert turned the something around and screamed in horror, throwing it away. Ron snickered softly, unheard.

Bowen threw his spear into the waterfall and looked triumphant for all of a second before realising the dragon had caught it: there were several crunching noises and the spear slowly disappeared into the waterfall while the dragon taunted him.

“Catch!” And the dragon threw a length of spear-shard at Bowen, who blocked it just in time with his shield. “You know, I’ve got quite a collection of victims in here.”

Bowen shouted defiantly, “I won’t be added to it!” and dismounted. He slapped his horse’s rump and made for the waterfall, his shield at the ready.

“I’ve given you my final warning,” the dragon told him.

Gilbert prattled on for a little while before crying in despair, “That was good. What did I say?!” while Bowen strode into the waterfall. There was a fiery explosion, a scream from Gilbert, and a few moments of silence.

Eventually the Gryffindors could hear Bowen and the dragon’s voices on the other side of the waterfall, but not the words which were muffled too much by the roar of the water.

After about a minute the dragon came flying out of the water, closely followed by Bowen who quickly mounted his horse and took off in hot pursuit. Gilbert shouted at Bowen and told him, unnecessarily, which direction the dragon had gone in.

Harry threw the cloak off, bundled it up and stuffed it into his trunk before shrinking it and stuffing the shrunken trunk into his pocket. “Come on! We should follow them, make sure the dragon’s okay!” He pulled out his Firebolt, mounted it, and dragged Hermione, who barely had time to shrink and grab her own trunk, to sit behind him. Ron followed suit and mounted his new broomstick, and they all took to the air.

“Good heavens!” Gilbert yelped and crossed himself at the incredible sight. Ron grinned as he passed the man, waving cheerily before concentrating on following Harry and Hermione.

Harry followed the dragon in the air, easily keeping pace. After Bowen succeeded in roping the dragon and got dragged along, it became easier for Ron to keep up as well. All three were highly amused by the dragon’s quips to the dragonslayer who was dragged along the ground yelling and screaming.

After several impacts with trees, Bowen must have succeeded in getting the other end of the rope caught on something, because it pulled tight and, with a yelp, the dragon came crashing down in a meadow.

Harry circled the clearing a few times before landing, by which time Bowen had made it to the dragon and was facing its tail. As he dismounted, Bowen managed to duck behind a log, in which the dragon’s tail spade was soon firmly embedded.

“A little overconfident, aren’t we?” Bowen asked the dragon, who was busily trying to dislodge his tail as he replied,

“Hardly. But if you win, you’ll be out of work.”

“I will not stop until I’ve rid the world of every last one of you,” Bowen told the dragon.

“I _am_ the last one!” the dragon roared, and blew a series of fireballs at Bowen, who tried to run for it. As the dust and debris began to settle, Harry could just see Bowen silhouetted against a grey backdrop of dust. Bowen accused the dragon of trying to save himself with tricks, and brushed himself off.

The dragon glared and asked him, “Haven’t you noticed the pickings are rather slim these days?”

Bowen smirked and said, “I got me one just the other day.”

The dragon looked upset. “So it was you who killed the Scarred One. She and I were the last.” Hermione looked horrified and fell to her knees in silent sympathy. Ron and Harry shared an unhappy glance. “Must’ve been a proud kill, warrior,” he continued sarcastically. “How much did her tattered carcass put in your purse?”

“That’s none of your business,” Bowen growled.

“Couldn’t have been very much,” the dragon snorted. “And you’ll kill me for sport? And when there are no more dragons left to slay, how will you make a living, _knight_?”

“Shut up!” Bowen snapped.

The dragon snapped the rope tight, catching Bowen in the groin and sending him flying. Ron and Harry winced in involuntary sympathy.

Bowen groaned as the dragon began dislocating his jaw. He lunged for his sword, which had fallen a couple of metres to his right, just as the dragon made to grab him in his mouth. As the dragon’s jaws closed, Bowen stabbed his sword into the roof of the dragon’s mouth. Hermione gasped and backed away a bit.

“If your teeth come down, my sword goes up, right into your brain!” Bowen yelled.

When it became clear that this would take a while, Ron and Harry set about building a fire and Hermione filled the wooden cups with water using _aguamenti_. She pulled out her school cloak and spread it on the ground near the fire, and soon all three were sitting on the cloak, drinking their water and talking quietly, discussing what to do next. “I think we’ve got our answer,” Harry commented, gesturing at Bowen and the dragon. “There’s obviously something important going on.”

“Since when could dragons talk, anyway?” Ron wondered. “Charlie never told me about anything like this!”

“But he said he was the last,” Hermione pointed out, indicating the dragon. “Maybe there weren’t any written records, or maybe they just didn’t make it into the magical world? Maybe everyone just forgot.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Ron acknowledged.

“At least he’s more pleasant than the Horntail,” Harry commented.

It was approaching midnight when Harry roused from his position between Ron and Hermione, who slept on peacefully as he extracted himself from under his and Ron’s cloaks. He stood, tucked the other two in, and began to approach Bowen and the dragon. He could hear Brother Gilbert, who had caught up with them at some point, talking to himself just on the other side of a small hill.

Harry saw Bowen reach out and grab something, pulling it out from between the dragon’s teeth. “Oh, good Lord. Sir Eglamore,” Bowen sighed. Harry thought it might be a hand, perhaps with some sort of signet ring.

The dragon sighted in relief. “Thank you very much. It’s been stuck down there for months. Can you get your buttocks off my tongue?”

Bowen was unimpressed. “Why should you be comfortable? My armour is rusting in your drool, and your breath is absolutely _foul._ ”

“Well, what do you expect with old knights rotting between my molars?” the dragon asked sarcastically. Harry grimaced wordlessly at the mental picture. “Oh, God, my mouth’s so dry...”

“Here, sir,” Harry piped up, startling the dragon slightly. “If you lower your head a bit I can help with that.” The dragon complied, and Harry cast _aguamenti_ in the dragon’s mouth.

The dragon sighed in relief, thanked Harry and addressed Bowen. “It seems we’re in a bit of a stalemate, wouldn’t you say?” Harry quietly tried his hand at casting the translation charm on Bowen.

“I can go three days without sleep,” Bowen pointed out.

The dragon countered that with, “I can go three _weeks_.”

Bowen growled, and said, “I’ll stab you before I nod off!”

“And I’ll chomp you. Marvellous, we’ll kill each other,” the dragon commented.

“What do you suggest?” Bowen asked.

“A truce. Get out of my mouth, and let’s talk face-to-face.”

Bowen sighed and asked, “How do I know I can trust you?”

“I give you my word,” the dragon assured him. Harry took a few cautious steps back.

“The word of a dragon. It’s worthless,” Bowen sneered.

The dragon growled, called Bowen a stubborn lout, and spat him and his sword out before holding him down with his right foreleg.

“I should’ve known!” Bowen moaned. “Go on, kill me!”

The dragon took a moment to answer, moving his jaw back into place before saying, “I don’t want to kill you! I never did!” His Scottish accent was deeper than Harry had heard it yet. “And I don’t want you to kill me! How do we gain? If you win, you lose a trade. If _I_ win, I wait around for the next sword swinger thirsting to carve a reputation out of my hide. And I’m tired of lurking in holes and skulking in darkness.” He paused, taking a deep breath, and continued, “I’m gonna let you up now, and if you insist, we can pursue this fracas to its final stupidity. _Or_ ,” here he raised the index finger of his left foreleg, “You can listen to my alternative.”

Bowen groaned as he got up and tried to lift his sword. Seeing he was too weak and tired to lift it into a horizontal position let alone vertically, he asked, “What’s the alternative?”

While the dragon explained his plan, Harry quietly got out the penknife Sirius gave him for Christmas and used it to free the dragon’s leg from the rope, paying only minimal attention to the conversation nearby. He then returned the knife to his trunk and made his way back to Ron and Hermione. Within minutes he was once again settled down between them under the nice, warm cloaks, fast asleep.

 


	2. Draco's Name

The next morning, Harry awoke to find himself the only one still ’in bed’. He sat up and saw Hermione was having an animated conversation with the dragon and Ron was busy looking at the tail still embedded in the fallen log and clearly contemplating something. Harry had evidently forgotten to take his glasses off when he went to bed. Bowen was nowhere to be seen.

As Harry stood up, Ron noticed he was awake and called out to him. “Morning, Harry!”

“Morning, Ron,” Harry answered as he made his way to the other boy. “You look like you’re thinking hard, mate.”

“Thinking about the easiest way to get his tail out,” Ron told him, jerking his head toward the dragon. “Severing charm, y’think?”

“Maybe, but we’d better be careful. Might just wind up hitting the tail instead of the log,” Harry pointed out. “I’d better tell him to hold still.” He trotted off towards where Hermione was standing.

Hermione and the dragon turned to look at him as he approached, and he swallowed before saying, “We’re going to try and get your tail out, sir, but you need to hold very still. We don’t want to cut your tail by accident!”

“Which spell are you using?” Hermione wanted to know.

“We’re going to try the severing charm,” Harry told her, then made his way back to Ron. “Flip you for it?” he asked Ron, pulling a coin out of his jeans pocket.

“Heads,” Ron called.

Harry flipped the coin. “It’s tails,” he announced, pulling out his wand. He stepped closer to the log and cast, “ _Diffindo!_ ” The log was neatly cut in half, and a single lash of the dragon's tail was enough to dislodge the remaining wood from the edge of the spade.

“Thank you, young ones,” the dragon said with a sigh of relief.

“You’re welcome,” Harry, Ron and Hermione chorused like schoolchildren and hid amused grins.

Bowen returned with his horse just as Hermione finished replacing her cloak in her trunk, the boys already having put theirs away. He gave the three teens a mildly curious look as he made his way over to the dragon. The horse shied away in reaction to its proximity to such a huge carnivore, and Bowen gave it a little more lead to quiet it.

“Bowen,” said the dragon, “Meet Harry, Hermione and Ron.” He indicated each teen in turn.

“Now what would three youths be doing so close to a dragon without panicking?” Bowen wondered a touch sarcastically.

Harry found he did not much care for the man’s tone. “Compared to the angry nesting mother I had to face nearly a year ago, this is nothing. I’m not scared at all,” he told Bowen with a touch of Gryffindor bravado.

The dragon gave Harry an odd look, but said nothing.

“Come on, dragon,” Bowen turned to the great winged beast, “There’s a village a couple of miles away.”

At Hermione’s confused and somewhat curious look, the dragon briefly explained his deal with Bowen before taking to the air. Hermione gave a disapproving huff but said nothing aloud.

When the Gryffindor trio caught up with Bowen and the dragon, Bowen was busy counting money while in the saddle. “Most profitable, dragon. I should have met you a long time ago.”

The dragon did a lazy barrel roll as he countered with “There is much gold in the world. Perhaps when you’ve had your fill of it, you’ll no longer need me.”

“I am a Knight of the Old Code,” Bowen insisted, “My word is my bond.” Ron turned his head, first one way and then the other, looking at Harry and Hermione who were walking to either side of him.

“What’s the Old Code?”

Even Hermione shook her head, not knowing the answer.

In the meantime, the dragon continued, “Well, such deception hardly befits a Knight of the Old Code.”

Bowen chuckled. “Fleecing Einon’s lackeys. That’s a service to mankind.”

“Who’s Einon?” Harry wondered.

“Is it?” the dragon asked as he swooped down, “When you squeeze the nobility, it’s the peasants who feel the pinch.”

“That’s not my concern,” Bowen told him flatly. “Why should I stick my neck out for people afraid to risk their own? Don’t clutter up a clever scheme with morality.”

“So be it, _Knight of the Old Code_ ” the dragon said, sarcastically.

“If I wanted my conscience pricked, I would have stayed with the priest!” Bowen snapped. “What does a _dragon_ know of the Old Code anyway?”

The dragon hovered in midair as he recited, “His blade defends the helpless. His might upholds the weak. His word speaks _only_ truth.”

“That sounds kinda Gryffindorish,” Ron commented.

“Shut up!” Bowen snapped. “I remember. That’s all it is: a memory. Nothing can bring it back.”

The dragon landed and walked alongside Bowen. “You sound like one who tried,” he said in a soft, vaguely sympathetic tone of voice.

“And failed,” Bowen answered. “So I no longer try to change the world, dragon. I just try to get by in it.”

“Yes, it’s better than death, I suppose,” the dragon murmured.

“Oh, is it?” Bowen asked. “I should think you’d welcome death. You know, the last of your kind, all your friends dead, hunted wherever you go.”

Hermione scowled, ready to hex Bowen, but Harry held her back. “No, Hermione! Not where the Muggles might see!”

“Do you _delight_ in reminding me?” the dragon asked, upset. “Yes, Knight. I do long for death. But... fear it.” He stopped, looking downcast.

Bowen looked surprised. He turned in his saddle to face the dragon. “Why? Aside from your misery, what’s to lose?”

“My soul,” the dragon admitted.

Hermione had had enough. She drew her wand and, before Harry and Ron could stop her, quietly cast a stinging hex at Bowen.

Bowen jumped in the saddle, yelping, and twisted around, trying to spot the bee that had stung him. Finding nothing, he shrugged and rode on.

An hour later they made camp on a rocky ledge overlooking a wooded valley, and Ron set about catching dinner for the three of them. Harry gathered firewood, and Hermione transfigured a convenient rock into a bucket, which she covertly filled with water while the dragon watched curiously and Bowen hunted for himself.

Harry soon returned with an armful of firewood and started building a fire. The dragon hesitated and then asked, “Harry? What did you mean about facing a nesting mother dragon a year ago?”

“It’s... er... a bit of a long story,” Harry told him. At the dragon's expectant look, he sighed and explained, “Last year at school, we had this tournament where the seventh-years – students three or four years older than I was – from our school and two others could compete in three difficult challenges to win a lot of money, and prestige for their school. Somebody entered my name and forced me to compete. The first task was dragons – we had to get a fake, golden egg from a dragon’s nest. And as my luck would have it, I got the meanest of the bunch: a big, black Hungarian Horntail, about your size. Hang on, I think I still have the miniature...” he trailed off as he brought out his trunk and dug through it to find the miniature horntail. The enchantments on it had worn off over the summer, but it was still pretty impressive. “Nobody back home has heard of talking dragons,” he felt the need to explain as he showed the figurine to the dragon.

The dragon nodded his comprehension, looking thoughtful, and Harry returned the figurine to his trunk.

Within half an hour Ron and Bowen were back at the campsite and Bowen began to try to start a campfire using a flint and his sword. Hermione was debating whether or not to _incendio_ it herself when the dragon said, “I can, uh...”

Bowen just looked at him and went back to the flint.

“I really can!” the dragon insisted.

Bowen redoubled his efforts with the flint.

The dragon smiled, plugged up one nostril with a finger, and blew fire out the other nostril. The flames engulfed the campfire and the game meat staked out above it. Bowen leapt back, yelling in surprise at the flame and heat.

The dragon held the flame for a moment or two longer than necessary, before saying, “Sorry, Bowen. I hope you like it well done.” Hermione and the boys hid smiles. After a moment they made use of Hermione’s bucketful of water and the soap, washing their hands and faces.

After dinner Bowen started shifting around, getting ready to bed down for the night, and moved his shield into view. “You must have hated us very much,” the dragon spoke up, looking at the shield which was studded with something that Harry thought might be horns or fangs.

“I hated one of you,” Bowen told the dragon, “These I killed because I wanted to kill him. But I never found him. I never will: if you’re the last, he must be dead.” He sat down and pulled a blanket over his legs.

“Oh yes,” the dragon said, “Tell me, what was he like, this dragon you so hated?”

Bowen gave the dragon a sidelong look. “He only had half a heart. But even that was enough to pollute an innocent boy.”

“Einon was no innocent!” the dragon snapped, “He polluted the heart!”

“Who’s Einon?” Harry wondered again, too softly for Bowen or the dragon to hear.

Bowen shot to his feet and demanded, “How do you know that? How do _you_ know that, dragon?”

The dragon scratched the back of his neck, looking somewhat nervous. “ _All_ dragons know _that_ story! What was to be their hope became their doom. A spoiled, ungrateful child was given a great gift, and _destroyed_ it!”

“Sounds like Dudley,” Harry mused to Ron and Hermione.

“No!” Bowen shouted, “I _knew_ Einon. I was his teacher. I taught him the ways of honour, of right.”

“Then he betrayed you,” the dragon told Bowen, bringing his head close to the man, “Just as he betrayed the dragon whose heart he broke.” Ron looked stunned, clearly never having heard about anything like this from Charlie.

“That’s a _lie_ , dragon!” Bowen insisted.

“Stop calling me ‘dragon!’ _I_ have a name,” the dragon roared.

Bowen jerked his head and asked, “Well, what is it?”

“You couldn’t _possibly_ pronounce it in your tongue,” the dragon muttered. The Gryffindors smiled, remembering their earlier conversation with the dragon.

“Try me,” Bowen challenged him.

“It’s...” The dragon cut himself off with a roar of pain, falling back into the trees behind him.

Harry and Ron gaped in surprise while Hermione made a beeline for the fallen dragon. She started to lay her hand on his chest only to jerk it back in surprise. The scales there were burning hot! She wasted no time in pulling out her wand and casting “ _Aguamenti!_ ”, soaking the hot scales in cool water.

Ron and Harry moved to stand guard over her to keep Bowen from doing anything rash at the blatant show of magic. “You’re a witch!” he accused Hermione.

“Yeah, and we’re wizards,” Ron told him, wand at the ready, “So don’t try anything!”

Harry brought one of his spare shirts over to Hermione, who drenched it with her wand before laying it on the heated scales. Steam hissed through the fabric of the shirt as the dragon gradually came around.

“Oh, dear.” The dragon sighed, “Thank you. It’s passed now.”

“What was that?” Harry asked him, as the Knight made to ask the same question.

“An old complaint that acts up now and again,” the dragon groaned, exhausted.

“Forgive me if anything I said... If I upset you,” Bowen apologised to the dragon. Harry was surprised, but watched and listened in silence.

“It wasn’t you,” the dragon assured Bowen, “Not you.” He lay down with another groan.

Bowen watched the dragon for a minute, then sighed and turned to the three teens. “I’ll watch him.”

Harry looked at Ron and Hermione. “You guys go on and get some sleep. I’m staying up for a bit.” The others nodded and brought out their cloaks, silently huddling together between Ron’s cloak on the ground and Hermione’s as a makeshift blanket.

Harry guarded his friends’ sleep in silence for a couple of hours, watching Bowen stargaze until the dragon eventually stirred.

“Have you been watching me all night?” the dragon asked Bowen, glancing at Harry.

“I’ve... been thinking,” Bowen told the dragon, not really answering the question.

“Yes? About what?” the dragon asked.

“Many things,” Bowen answered, standing up. “Mostly about what to call you. I think I’ve found you a name.”

The dragon chuckled. “You say that as if you reached up and plucked it from the sky.” He gave Bowen a friendly smile.

“I did,” Bowen admitted. “Up there. Do you see that group of stars?” he asked, pointing.

“I know those stars... very well,” the dragon murmured.

“Do you see the shape that they make?” Bowen asked.

“Mm-hm, a dragon.”

“Yes. They call it ‘Draco’ – it means ‘dragon’ in the scholars’ speech,” Bowen explained. Four years of Astronomy allowed Harry to spot the constellation Bowen was referring to.

“So, instead of calling me ‘dragon’ in your tongue, you’ll call me ‘dragon’ in some other?” The dragon was highly amused.

“You’re right,” Bowen said, “It’s silly.”

“No!” the dragon protested, “No, I would be honoured to be named after those stars. I... I truly would.” There was a pause, then, “Thank you, Bowen. Draco. Draco...” The newly-named Draco trailed off, looking at the stars.

Soon afterwards, Harry decided to join Ron and Hermione, pausing only to get his own cloak out and take his glasses off before he lay down in the gap they had left him beside Hermione.

Harry was awoken by Bowen shaking him and saying, “Hey! Wake up, it’s time to go.” He yawned widely and fumbled for his glasses, which Hermione promptly handed to him. After putting the glasses on he got up and stuffed his cloak back in his trunk before taking a look around the campsite.

Ron was stumbling back to where Harry stood after presumably answering the call of nature, and Draco was lounging by the cliff edge. The humans quickly packed up their belongings and made sure the fire was extinguished before Bowen rode off toward the next village. As Draco took flight to follow suit, Harry called out, “We’ll meet you at the waterfall: we need to get some supplies first.”

Draco nodded and took off after Bowen.

Once again Hermione joined Harry on his faster broomstick while Ron brought up the rear. They made good time to the village Bowen and Draco had visited the day before, dismounting their broomsticks before they were in sight of the village. They took a moment to divide their funds equally before Harry started planning their excursion.

“I’ll get us some food,” he suggested. “Ron, could you get us some blankets?” Ron nodded and said,

“Sure, mate.”

"I'll get us a proper hunting knife, and maybe some other supplies. Oh, Harry, don't get rye bread. It might be tainted," Hermione cautioned Harry.

 

"Sure, Hermione," said Harry, "Let's meet up back here in, say, half an hour?"

 

Together they walked to the village and went their separate ways upon entering it. Harry managed to get a respectable amount of food for a few galleons, and began to haul the sacks of food back to their meeting point. He was soon joined by Ron, who was carrying an armful of un-dyed, grey woollen blankets. Once they got to the meeting point they were soon rejoined by Hermione, who was carrying a small cooking pot (“In case we need to boil water for something,” as she explained), three belts, and a knife for each of them in addition to leather sheaths.

 

“By the way,” Harry mentioned, “The dragon’s got a name now. It’s Draco.”

“Draco as in... Malfoy?” Ron asked.

“No, mate, as in the constellation. He sounded a bit flattered when Bowen suggested it...” Harry corrected him, helping Hermione put her purchases away.

As they approached the waterfall from the air – after a few wrong turns for lack of familiarity with the terrain – they could hear Draco singing. Not knowing whether he had company, they dismounted a little ways downstream and walked the rest of the way.

“You have a beautiful voice,” they heard a woman’s voice say.

“Oh, thank you,” Draco answered, “We dragons love to sing when we’re happy.”

“That’s new,” Ron muttered.

“Well, you’re not like a dragon at all,” they heard the woman say as they climbed up the last bit of hill and saw a young woman, perhaps in her twenties, with bright, Weasley-red hair perched on one of the large boulders lining the waterfall.

“Well, how many dragons do you know?” Draco asked her, leaning towards her.

“You’re the first,” the woman said.

“You should never listen to minstrels’ fancies,” Draco told her, leaning back. “A dragon would never hurt a soul, unless they tried to hurt him first.”

“News to me,” Ron commented. “Tell that to Charlie and his collection of burns...”

Harry turned slightly, hearing hoof-beats approaching.

“Really,” the young lady asked, “Then why were you in my village?”

“Oh! The village!” Draco remembered, waving a fist.

Just then Bowen rode in, barely sparing the teens a glance before saying, “Yes, the village! You remember the village?”

“Leave him alone, you bully!” the woman shouted, grabbing a rope and swinging it in what she must have thought was a menacing fashion. “Run, Draco, fly! I’ll hold him! Pick on someone your own size!” she told Bowen.

Bowen ignored her and addressed Draco while dismounting. “Where have you been?”

“I’m truly sorry, Bowen. I’ve been... distracted,” Draco admitted with a sheepish grin. Bowen and the Gryffindors approached the waterfall as he continued, “Everyone, meet Kara. Kara, these are Hermione, Ron, Harry and the Knight, Bowen.”

Bowen gave Kara an incredulous look before telling Draco, “You should’ve eaten her.” Hermione traded shocked looks with the boys.

“Oh, don’t get angry, Bowen,” Draco said, almost plaintively.

“Why not?” Bowen wanted to know. “You left me high and dry. I was worried to death!”

“Worried?” Draco looked oddly hopeful. “About me?”

“Yes!” Bowen told him, squatting down by the water’s edge and rinsing his face, “About you! I had the whacker all set up. Half the village is out there with me.”

“Methinks his lordship doth protest too much,” Hermione murmured, receiving odd looks from Ron and Harry.

Unnoticed by Bowen, Draco was making his way to the cave under the waterfall and out of sight. “We’re searching the skies for you: _I_ don’t know where you are. _If_ you’re coming back, _when_ you’re coming back. You just...” He trailed off, realising Draco was nowhere to be seen, “Disappear.”

Harry could see Draco’s tail spade vanishing into the waterfall.

“Be careful!” Draco called, “He’s coming!”

 

 


	3. Einon, and Avalon

Everyone turned to look downstream, and saw a group of horsemen approaching, with a white horse in the lead. The man on the white horse laughed, and Harry shuddered involuntarily. The laugh was a sinister one, and a far sight more intimidating than Voldemort’s.

“Well, well, well. It can’t be! But it is! My old mentor, still giving carving lessons?”

“That looks like a younger Professor Lupin!” Hermione hissed, shocked.

“Get off your horse and I’ll give you one,” Bowen retorted.

“Time’s not been kind to you, Bowen, You should never have broke with me,” the white-clad horseman said.

“It was you who broke with me!” Bowen insisted.

“And yet you return to me with this girl I lost,” the evil Lupin-lookalike said. Harry wondered who this man was.

Bowen looked at Kara, who drew a knife and brandished it. “I think she wants to stay lost.”

“Not her decision, I’m afraid!” the other man yelled, then dismounted, approached Bowen and drew his sword. “I’m ready for my lesson now, Knight.”

Bowen looked angry as he closed the gap between them, walking into the middle of the pool in front of the waterfall, where the water was at least knee-deep. They circled each other a few times, sizing each other up before Bowen drew his sword and brought it down in a vertical arc toward Lupin’s doppelganger, who parried the blow.

They slashed at each other repeatedly, Bowen forcing the other man backwards toward the shore. When he reached the rock shelf at the edge of the pool the other man turned the tables on Bowen, forcing him on the defensive. The other man slashed at Bowen and overbalanced. Bowen seized the opportunity and brought the edge of his sword to the other man’s back. “That’s one lesson you never learnt! Only expose your back to a corpse!”

The other man smiled evilly and slashed at Bowen, telling him, “You _are_ a corpse! You just don’t know it!” before swiping at him again.

Bowen parried this blow too, but was forced backward toward the other side of the pool and the horses. He tripped and fell backwards onto the rocky shore but kept his sword up.

“Lie down, Bowen!” the Lupin’s evil twin yelled, poking Bowen with the point of his sword, “You’re the sorry scrap of _dead_ worlds and _dead_ beliefs.”

“No!” Bowen screamed, “They were your beliefs!” and stood up, still fighting.

“Never,” the other man leered, “Never mine.” They fought for a little while before Bowen spoke again, very much upset.

“You said the words! You spoke them from your heart!”

“I vomited them up because I couldn’t stomach them! Because I knew it was what you wanted to hear!” He smirked wickedly.

Bowen looked shattered. “Lies! Liar! I _taught_ you!”

“You taught me to fight, that’s all! I took what I needed from you. You taught me to fight!” After a few more slashes the evil man got in a lucky blow, stabbing Bowen in the shoulder. Bowen groaned, and the other man laughed. “You taught me well.” He pulled his sword out of Bowen’s shoulder and backed away, sheathing it. He made as if to walk away before spinning around, sword in hand.

“Bowen! Watch out!” Harry yelled in warning.

Draco erupted out of the falls, landing between Bowen and the other man, snarling. From his vantage point Harry could see Draco pull one of the scales on his chest up, exposing something red and glowing, like embers.

The evil man, whom Harry now presumed to be Einon, looked horrified and ran for his horse, mounting it as quickly as he could and riding away at a gallop. The other horsemen followed suit.

Draco watched them go, growling.

Bowen stumbled forward, demanding, “Who asked _you_ to interfere? I had _everything_ under control!” His voice cracked on ‘control’.

Hermione ran over to Bowen. “Hold still, Bowen. Let me see!” She examined the wound for a moment, noting that it was fairly deep and bleeding freely, before pulling out her wand. “Don’t move, Bowen. _Vulnera sanentur_!” Nothing happened. “Harry, help me with this!” She showed Harry the wand movements, after which they tried again in unison while Ron stood guard.

“ _Vulnera sanentur_!” The wound was now fairly shallow, and they cast once again. “ _Vulnera sanentur_!”, leaving behind unblemished skin. Harry’s knees wobbled as he took a step back and put his wand away. He could see Hermione doing the same, and together they stumbled onto dry land.

 “Let’s try not to do that again too soon,” he told her. “I’m knackered!”

“It’s an advanced spell,” Hermione admitted. She glanced at Kara, who was standing, frozen in shock, near Bowen. “What do you think, should we use a memory charm on her?”

“If I tried, I’d probably wipe too much what with how tired I am,” Harry told her, and the subject was dropped.

“Oi, mate! Catch!” Ron shouted from the other side of the pool, throwing something small, red and round at Harry. As soon as Harry caught it, Ron threw another one. Harry hastily set the first object down without looking at it and caught the second object. He looked down to discover it was an apple.

“Here,” he said, handing it to Hermione and picking the first one up for himself. _Well,_ he thought to himself as he took a bite, _it’s not chocolate, but it’ll have to do._ The rush of sugar still helped somewhat.

“Who was that man anyway?” Hermione wondered as Ron came over to join them.

“I think that was Einon,” Harry told them.

“How could someone who looks so much like Professor Lupin have such a horrible personality?” Hermione commented, looking disgusted.

“Lupin’s looks and Dudley’s personality,” Harry muttered. “Good thing he’s not a wizard, or he’d be this century’s very own dark lord! Voldemort’s enough for me,” he added.

“Think of it as a holiday, mate,” Ron told him. “You-Know-Who’s a thousand years away!”

“No, I don’t believe I do know who,” Draco commented, overhearing their conversation.

“Voldemort, whose name most wizards are so terrified by that they call him the Dark Lord, He Who Must Not Be Named and a various hyphenated pseudonyms, is our version of Einon, except magical,” Hermione explained. “Voldemort thinks anyone whose bloodline is anything less than purely magical is inferior, which is _slightly_ hypocritical considering his own father was a Muggle – a non-magical human.”

“Voldemort’s obsessed with me: so far he’s tried to kill me four separate times. The first time was when I was about a year old, and again when I was eleven, twelve, and earlier this year. It was one of his minions who entered me in the tournament I mentioned the other day,” Harry continued.

“Anyway, what’s with Einon?” Ron wanted to know.

“Bowen was his teacher,” Draco explained. “His mother Aislinn wanted him to have a good teacher in order to hopefully counter the influence of his father’s evil. When Bowen realised that he had failed, and that Einon had indeed turned evil...”

“He left,” Ron realised.

“Mm-hm.”

_____

About a day later Bowen and the three Gryffindors made their way to the next village, which was located in a swamp. Hermione had given way to her curiosity, wanting to see what, exactly, Bowen and Draco’s plan involved.

All three teens were relieved Kara had not decided to join them, electing instead to follow Bowen around, making rather a nuisance of herself by badgering him about starting a rebellion against Einon. Fortunately she had left the Gryffindors alone, leery of the magic they wielded.

Ron, Hermione and Harry entered the village first and, under the guise of buying more food, discreetly positioned themselves in locations from which they could observe without looking suspicious, trying desperately not to gag on the smells surrounding them.

They made a show of ducking and running when Draco ‘attacked’ the village, keeping a low profile while covertly watching Bowen’s approach. As Bowen began his speech, they came closer in order to listen.

A man with long, tangled hair placed something unidentified in a pouch and handed it to Bowen, saying, “We can lose no more pigs to this dragon.”

“Wait!” Kara shouted, running toward Bowen and the man whom Harry presumed to be the village head. “This man is a fraud!”

The villagers muttered amongst themselves, and several brandished farming implements. Bowen looked surprised but hid it well, thinking quickly. “It’s her!” he yelled, turning to look at her. “This girl is a... a wandering idiot. She babbles nonsense.”

“I’m telling you, this knight is _no_ dragonslayer,” she insisted, shaking her head.

“You’re mistaken, my child!” came a voice from behind her. “He’s the greatest dragonslayer there is! Possibly the greatest there ever will be!” he added, hobbling his way across the rickety bridge leading into the village.

“Brother Gilbert!” Bowen called, glad to see the monk.

“Bowen! You’re alive. Praised be the saints. You’re alive!” Gilbert spoke enthusiastically. “And... whole,” he added, patting Bowen over.

“Brother Gilbert,” Bowen responded, grinning widely.

“You could _not_ put your trust in a better man,” Gilbert assured the villagers, while the village head brandished a meat cleaver. “I personally have seen him slay... almost two dragons.”

“Oh, Brother Gilbert,” Bowen murmured.

“Almost,” Kara said derisively.

“Well, I didn’t _actually_ see the death blow of the second...” Gilbert admitted, “But as Bowen is here, he _must_ have won.” The Gryffindors exchanged amused looks.

“No,” Kara insisted, “Don’t you see? He’s in _league_ with the dragon!”

Gilbert looked at Bowen, speechless.

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then suddenly the entire village was laughing.

A few minutes later Bowen was busy setting up his equipment and the three teens were back to watching covertly.

When Draco was perhaps a hundred metres of the village, Bowen shot at his with a large, heavy-looking spear. Draco turned sideways as he caught the spear, letting out a theatrical yelp as he plummeted down toward the water. He fell headfirst into what turned out to be very shallow water and flopped onto his back, remaining mostly visible.

Gilbert appeared to congratulate Bowen on another ‘kill’, but from their vantage points neither Hermione, Ron nor Harry could hear what, exactly, was said.

The villagers crawled out of their hiding places, looked at the ‘dead’ dragon for a few moments, before seeming to go into a feeding frenzy. “Meat! _Meat!_ ” they screamed, surging forward.

Draco wasted no time in climbing to his feet, which had the unfortunate side-effect of revealing his continued existence to the villagers, who pursued him as he struggled to get out of the mud and into the air. Once he was well out of reach, the villagers turned their attentions to Bowen, Kara and Gilbert, determined to have their meat no matter where it came from.

Bowen shot up onto his horse and picked Kara up as he passed her. Harry got out his broomstick, motioning for Ron to do the same, and mounted it. Hermione joined him an instant later. Harry watched as Bowen grabbed Gilbert as well, and as the teens took to the air Bowen and company were cornered by the angry villagers. Bowen tossed something down, but it had no effect on the enraged peasants.

Just at the last moment Draco swooped down and grabbed the horse and its riders, lifting them all up into the air. Gilbert could be heard screaming something as the teens followed Draco toward the setting sun.

“Draco,” Harry could just hear Bowen ask as they approached an island with ruins silhouetted on it, “What unholy place is this?”

“ _Unholy_?” Draco said incredulously, “This is _Avalon_ , the resting place of King Arthur himself!”

Harry’s broom jerked a bit in midair, making Hermione shriek. Once they were on solid ground again, she glared at him in a manner that promised several painful hexes if he ever did it again. He smiled apologetically at her and looked around. There were several columns – twelve, by Harry’s count – set in a circle. Some of the columns were broken and others were still intact.

Harry could feel something here, a presence unlike any he had ever felt before. There was power here, and other things that Harry had no hope of naming. Something here was important to their presence in this time.

Brother Gilbert could be heard praying at the foot of one column in particular. After a little while he finished and said, “Ready now, Kara.” He paused and turned around. “And you, Bowen?” There was a moment of silence as they all waited to see if Bowen would respond. When no answer came, Gilbert continued. “This is Avalon, the shadow realm of the Round Table. It’s a divine omen.”

“Omens won’t win battles,” Bowen told them. “Nor will _you_ , as you’ll find out when you try to raise your army.” He walked toward Kara. “You already know the courage in your village. They’re very brave at pelting young girls with vegetables.”

“It must start somewhere,” Kara insisted. “Will you wish us luck, Draco?”

Draco was silent for a moment, perched on a broken column. “Long ago, when man was young and the dragon already old, the wisest of our race took pity on man. He gathered together all the dragons, making them vow to watch over man, always. And at the moment of his death, the night became alive with those stars,” he told them, indicating the constellation he was named after. “And thus was born the dragons’ heaven. But when we die, not all dragons are admitted to this shining place. No,” here he sounded infinitely sad, “We have to _earn_ it. And if we don’t, our spirit disappears as if we never were. And that’s why I shared my life force with a dying boy, so I would reunite man and dragon, and ensure my place among my ancient brothers of the sky. But my sacrifice became my sin.” He sighed.

“It was you,” Bowen realised. “Your heart beats in Einon’s breast.”

Draco jumped down onto the ground in the midst of the pillars. “Yes, my half-heart that... cost me all my soul. Even then I knew his bloodthirsty nature, but I thought my heart could change him. My _God_ , I was so naive!” He lowered his head. Harry, Hermione and Ron exchanged a long look.

“No more than I,” Bowen countered, taking a few step forward. “All my life I’ve dreamt of serving noble kings, noble ideals. Dreams die hard, and you hold them in your hands long after they’ve turned to dust. I will not be that naive again!”

Draco straightened. “Kara, I will go with you.”

“We’re in, too,” Harry piped up. Ron and Hermione nodded their agreement.

Bowen strode away.

“So be it,” Draco sighted.  “Farewell, Bowen.”

Harry and Hermione followed Draco and the others to a cave set in a cliff where they stopped to wait out the storm that had begun as they were leaving Avalon. As Hermione dismounted Harry could feel something pulling him back toward Avalon.

“I need to go back,” he told Ron and Hermione. “I feel like something’s pulling me there. I think there’s someone or something important waiting for me. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he assured them, and flew back to Avalon.

As his feet once again landed on the stones of Avalon, Harry could feel magic, or energy, or _something_ , concentrating in a spot just off to one side of the ring of columns. After a moment, there was a flash of light and the figure of a man standing there, dressed in flowing robes and with a long white beard.. “Hello, Master Potter. I am Merlin.”

“Merlin?!” Harry gasped.

“Yes,” the apparition nodded. “I imagine you are wondering why you came here, to this time and place so far from your own.” He paused for a moment, then continued, “I brought you here.”

“What?” Harry demanded, “Why?”

“These people need your help in dealing with Einon, and there is much here for _you_ to learn,” Merlin told him.

Harry wanted to ask some more questions, but a noise from the ring of pillars drew his focus away. When he returned his attention to the apparition, there was nothing there. Harry walked over to the stone pillars, and froze in surprise.

“Valour,” a disembodied voice called. Whoever it was, it was certainly not Merlin. “Valour!” Harry could just see Bowen leaning huddled under a ruined arch, soaking wet.  “A knight is sworn to valour.”

Bowen strode into the circle.

There were a series of disembodied voices murmuring something, but they were too muffled for Harry to hear what they were saying.

Bowen was now staring at something in shocked awe. Harry moved forward in the shadows, trying to get a better look. The tallest, intact pillar was lit up.

“ _A knight is sworn to valour_ ,” the first voice spoke, clearly and with pride.

Bowen repeated the line.

“ _His heart knows only virtue_.”

“His heart knows only virtue,” Bowen repeated.

“ _His blade defends the helpless._ ”

Bowen repeated this, too.

“ _His might upholds the weak_.”

“His might upholds the weak!” Bowen spoke loudly.

“ _His word speaks only truth._ ”

Once again, Bowen repeated the line.

The voice recited another line.

“His wrath undoes the wicked!” Bowen repeated steadily, only to look downcast afterward. After a moment he looked up again, and Harry could see Draco silhouetted against the storm clouds.

Bowen walked toward Draco, who met him halfway and extended a wing, shielding him from the rain. No words were exchanged, but Harry could tell Bowen’s faith had been restored.

Harry shivered, suddenly realising he was soaking wet, and quickly changed into dry clothes before pulling out his school cloak. “Impervius,” he murmured, tapping it with his wand before putting the cloak on. Deciding not to chance flying again in this weather, he looked around for a good, relatively dry place to bed down for the night. He noticed Draco was already lying down on the other side of the circle, an expectant look on his face.

“You might as well join me,” he told both Harry and Bowen. “Provided you don’t kick me in your sleep, I don’t mind at all.”

Harry blinked, and told himself, _This is Draco, not a Horntail. It’s Draco, he won’t hurt you. Draco. Not a Horntail. He’s a nice dragon..._ as he walked forward to Draco’s left side, took off his cloak, laid it on the ground, and lay down on top of it. He was still convincing himself not to draw his wand and start hexing at the slightest provocation when sleep took him.

When he awoke, it was to pleasant warmth and a feeling of peace and safety unlike anything he could remember ever feeling before. Harry opened his eyes and found his view of the sky was mostly obscured by a broad expanse of leathery, bronze-coloured wing. His stomach grumbled loudly and he sat up with a soft sigh.

As he rose to his feet and picked up his cloak, Harry noticed that it was just after dawn, and that the sky was once again clear. He started to make his way past Draco, and just as he passed the dragon’s head Draco began to stir. Harry paused, waiting to see if he would wake.

Draco opened his eyes, lifted his head and yawned widely. “Good morning, Harry,” he said.

“Good morning, Draco,” Harry responded. “Thank you for last night. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so... safe. Peaceful. I don’t know how to describe it.” At Draco’s curious look, Harry explained. “I don’t really remember my parents: they died when I was a year old. After that I was sent to live with my aunt and her family. ...They really don’t like me.”

Draco gave an understanding rumble.

Bowen chose that moment to wake up on Draco’s other side and start making noises about leaving.

Draco stood up and groaned, moving to rub the back of his neck where it had impacted the swamp bottom the day before.

“Let me try something, Draco,” Harry suggested.

Draco nodded and Harry drew his wand, casting a warming charm on the dragon’s sore neck. After only a few moments Draco sighed in relief. “Thank you Harry, that’s much better.”

When they returned to the cave where the others were holed up, Hermione wasted no time in pressing two apples into Harry’s hands. Harry smiled ruefully and commented, “If your mum ever finds out just how many meals I’ve skipped so far, Ron, I’m going to be in _so_ much trouble. Your mum’s _scary_!”

“Tell me about it. She won’t hear from me, mate,” Ron assured him.

Nothing further was said as they packed up and started making their way toward Kara’s village.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With regard to Harry and Hermione successfully casting such a strong healing spell when they haven’t even started fifth year: to use an overused expression, where there’s a will, there’s a way. They were running on sheer dumb luck and adrenaline.
> 
> If you spot any mistakes or typos, please let me know!


	4. Storming the Castle

”Now I know you’re completely mad,” a large, burly man with an eye-patch said, clearly familiar with Kara. “You want us to follow you and a priest against Einon?”

“Yes,” Kara responded, with Gilbert trailing behind her as they passed Harry who was standing next to a full sheep enclosure.

“To hell, more like,” the man with the eye-patch scoffed.

“But this time we can _win_! You don’t understand,” Kara insisted.

“I don’t want to understand!” the man yelled. “I understand _this_!” he continued, indicating his eye-patch, “I understand six years in a quarry! That’s all I _need_ to understand!”

“I know,” Kara said sympathetically, “Believe me, I know what you’ve been through, Hewe. But this time we’ve been joined - ”

“Only a fool would be mad enough to join you!” Hewe snapped.

“Look, you’re not listening to what I’m saying!” Kara tried to say.

“I don’t want to listen to you!” Hewe shouted, lifting up his wooden shovel menacingly, “I’ve had enough of your mischief! Now get - ” An arrow _thunked_ into the shovel as he lifted it higher, and everyone turned to look for the archer.

Bowen came riding over the hillside, holding a longbow. “Save your strength for the fight against Einon.”

“There isn’t any fight against Einon,” Hewe told him.

“I’m going to start one,” Bowen announced. Kara and Gilbert glanced at each other.

“You and what army, Knight?” Hewe demanded.

Bowen turned his horse around and galloped toward the sunset. Silhouetted against the colours of the setting sun, he raised his bow just as Draco’s massive form flew up behind him. There were no more objections.

_____

That night the Gryffindor trio sat down to form a plan of attack. They discussed blending in with the villagers during the attack, whenever possible, so that, as Ron put it, “They won’t know who’s hexing them. They might even think there are more wizards in the battle than there really are!”

 Harry told his friends about his brief encounter with Merlin’s apparition, and his various observations regarding Einon, Bowen and Draco.

“So Einon has half of Draco’s heart,” Hermione summarised, “And I’d bet anything that everything he feels, so does Draco, and vice versa. What we need to do is figure out how to kill Einon without hurting Draco.”

“Maybe if we all stun Draco at the same time. He should be pretty out of it then.” Ron suggested.

Harry soon realised something. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not sure I can kill someone who looks so much like Moony. Even if he is an evil, vicious git.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Hermione told him, wrapping him up in a hug.

The following dawn found several young girls helping their grandmothers with fletching arrows, Hermione modifying her school robes with strategically-placed notice-me-not and colour-changing charms so that they would look like normal peasant’s garb, and Bowen instructing the villagers in the usage of various weapons. “You have never fired a bow in your life?” he asked Brother Gilbert. “In anger or in practice?”

“No,” the monk responded.

“Draw your bow,” Bowen ordered him. Gilbert did as he was told. “Sight along the arrow. Release.” The arrow flew straight into the practice dummy’s head. Gilbert looked at Bowen aghast. Bowen returned the look calmly.

“Beginner’s luck,” Hewe insisted from about a metre away. “Try again.”

This time Gilbert’s arrow hit the dummy in the crotch.

“Brother Gilbert,” Bowen told him, “You’re a natural.” He clapped the stunned monk on the back.

Nearby, Harry and Ron practiced with swords. Bowen walked over and asked if either teen had ever used a sword before.

“Once,” Harry told him as Ron shook his head. “When I was twelve, I used a sword to kill a Basilisk – a dirty great snake that could kill with just a look,” he explained when Bowen looked at him confusedly.

Bowen gave the boys a few pointers before moving on toward Kara, who was wielding a battle-axe. After a brief demonstration, Bowen threw the axe into a squash sitting in a wheelbarrow, and said something else to Kara. As he walked away, Kara gave him a lingering look before resuming her efforts with the axe.

Two days later Harry was startled as Draco suddenly let out a loud bellow, flaring his wings. When he looked to see who or what the dragon was roaring at, he spotted a man on horseback on a nearby ridge, struggling to control his panicked horse. After about a minute’s struggle the rider took off over the hill, most likely to inform Einon of the villagers’ activities.

When Bowen heard about the rider and the shorter preparation time that was sure to result, he stepped up his effort in training the peasants, working them until sunset before finally calling a halt. Before sending everyone to bed, Bowen told the villagers, “By now Einon knows what we’re doing. We’ll assemble in the forest near the castle in a few hours to begin setting traps. Get some sleep, and I’ll see you tomorrow,” he finished.

A little later, on his way to the far edge of the village which they had chosen as a good, hopefully pest-free place to spend the night, Harry happened to glance at the crest of the nearby hill and saw Draco and someone else, perhaps Bowen, silhouetted against the setting sun. Harry wondered what they were discussing, but thought little of it. He made his way to their ‘campsite’, lay down between his cloak and blanket, and was soon fast asleep.

The next morning, while it was still mostly dark and everyone was working by torchlight, Harry helped to rig up a trap involving a log suspended by ropes, Hermione assisted with building a platform for the archers, and Ron helped with the digging of an oil ditch.

After finishing her platform, Hermione sought Bowen out.

“Bowen,” she said, grabbing the knight’s shirtsleeve, “Harry can’t kill Einon. Even if he has the chance and decides that he should, I don’t want him to try: Einon looks very much like Harry’s favourite teacher, his father’s best friend. Please don’t let Harry do it,” she requested of the knight. “It would kill him.”

Bowen stared at her for a long moment before nodding.

_____

Just as the sun began the laborious process of rising, Ron, Hermione and Harry trailed after the villagers, who were following Bowen to the other edge of the forest, near Einon’s castle gates. There they formed into a fairly organised line several people deep while Bowen rode back and forth in front of them, proudly displaying his new dragon’s-head shield for all to see. The villagers cheered as Bowen raised his shield arm.

After a moment, Draco swooped by the castle wall, snorting twin fireballs at the men stationed there. Shortly after that, there was another fiery explosion behind the tallest tower of the castle. Draco repeatedly attacked for about an hour, and eventually someone in the castle fired a series of spears or harpoons attached to ropes at the dragon, which he easily caught and pulled away. This caused the machines holding the ropes to knock several men off the battlements.

Finally Einon’s men rode out of the castle, and formed a line of their own about a hundred metres in front of the villagers. Einon shouted something, and his troops charged, yelling.

Bowen’s horse reared. “To the forest!” he shouted. The villagers ran, some screaming or shouting. Once they were deep enough into the forest, they halted and Bowen gave another order. “Form up!” The crown roared. “Form up!” The crowd roared again.

Einon called a halt.

One villager swung down on a rope, carrying a torch. Once he was low enough, he dropped the torch in one of Ron’s oil ditches, setting it alight.

Einon’s troops’ horses panicked, and Bowen gave his next order. “Second line! Right flank, advance!” Making a great deal of noise and wielding various agricultural implements, the ordered group ran toward Einon’s troops, who got their horses under control just in time. “Charge!” Bowen shouted, spurring his horse onward.

Boxed in by the flames, Einon’s troops were relatively easy targets for Bowen’s archers, and Ron’s creative hexes. Stunners, jelly-legs jinxes and levitation charms flew along with many others. Even with the lack of Unforgivables being used, Einon’s troops were soon in a sorry state and extremely disoriented, which made them even easier targets for Brother Gilbert, Hewe, and a few others. Stationed on the same archery platform, Ron even heard Gilbert making quips as he shot people in various portions of their anatomy

Einon’s men shouted such things as “Scatter or die!” as Harry and Hermione, stationed on the ground, threw spells left, right and centre. By unspoken agreement, they avoided hexing Einon in case the spells’ effect could carry over to Draco.

Once it became very clear that Einon’s troops were losing badly, he called a retreat. Bowen noticed and called, “Brother Gilbert! It’s Einon! Stop him!” Before Ron could prevent him from doing so, Gilbert shot Einon in the chest.

Barely a second later, Draco dropped out of the sky above the castle with a pained yell. Bowen looked stricken. Einon pulled the arrow out, said something inaudible, and took off back toward the castle.

“I go to save the dragon!” Bowen roared, walking by a large part of the crown which included Ron, Harry and Hermione. “Who will go with me?” Everyone else looked reluctant, but Kara, Ron, Hermione and Harry stepped forward. Kara looked Bowen straight in the eye, nodding, and followed Bowen as he strode off, the Gryffindor teens trailing behind. Harry glanced behind him once, to see Brother Gilbert bringing up the rear.

Once it was dark, Kara led the rescue party into the old Roman waterway below the castle. As they neared the end of the tunnel they heard Draco’s roar booming above them. A moment later, Hewe and several other villagers rounded the corner behind them. “We have to open the gates,” Hewe told them. “The rest of us are waiting outside. Go save your dragon, Bowen.”

“Hurry, all of you,” someone, whose identity Harry was unable to discern in the poor lighting, murmured.

“It’s this way,” Kara told those present, leading them onward. After a couple of minutes they came to what appeared to be a dead end. Kara pressed something in the wall and part of the ceiling rolled back, exposing a stone staircase.

As he reached the top, Harry heard Einon’s voice say, “Well, well, well. What a pleasant surprise. I expected you, Bowen, but with my bride-to-be as well? And with a priest to wed us? And oh, you even brought witnesses?”

“For your funeral,” Bowen growled. Harry saw that Einon was sprawled by the fireplace a couple of yards away.

Einon leant forward, part of his face illuminated in the firelight. “Well, to bury one of us.” He leapt up, drew his sword and engaged Bowen in combat.

“Kara, the door, quickly!” Gilbert shouted.

The next few minutes were a bit of a blur for Harry. Bowen fought Einon, eventually toppling down the staircase along with Einon just as the trapdoor slid closed, and there were muffled noises from the corridor outside as Hewe and a few others took out the guards there. Once the guards were dealt with – dead or just unconscious, Harry deliberately refrained from looking too closely – Hewe opened the gate and stepped aside. “Hurry up. That way. That way,” he said, directing the first few people, Harry, Ron and Hermione included, to the right. As he moved forward, Harry could faintly hear Hewe direct the others in a different direction.

The teens ended up using several hexes, including a few reductor curses, on the guards as they made their way through the castle.

They found Draco at about the same time as Bowen did. Bowen immediately attempted to release Draco from his chains. Draco, from his extremely confined position in the courtyard, gave the knight a sidelong look and told him, “Now it’s you Bowen. It’s you that has to do it!”

“What are you talking about?” Bowen asked, irritated.

“As the heart binds Einon to me in life, it binds us in death,” Draco explained.

“That’s... not... _true!_ ” Bowen grunted as he removed the chain from Draco’s head.

“Through the heart, we share in each other’s pains and power,” Draco informed him. “But in _my_ half beats the life source. For Einon to die, _I_ must die!” he said, jerking his head hard enough to make the chains rattle. Harry shared a speaking glance with Ron and Hermione, their suspicions confirmed.

“Einon is dead,” Bowen said, waving a hand.

“He _lives_!” Draco insisted.

“It doesn’t matter. Don’t you hear it? Our rebels have stormed the castle. Alive or dead, Einon’s beaten. We’ve _won_!” Bowen exclaimed.

“You will never win until Einon’s evil is destroyed,” Draco said, shaking his head. “And to do that, you must destroy _me_!”

Bowen stared at him, speechless.

“Once you swore your sword and service were mine,” Draco told him, looking annoyed. “To call when I had need of you, to ask what I would of you. I _hold_ you to your vow, _Knight_!” He paused, looking to his right. “He’s coming, coming to stop you!” Bowen hefted his battle-axe as Draco continued, “Strike before it’s too late!”

Harry turned to see Kara standing at the top of some scaffolding.

“You are the last,” Bowen whispered, looking almost miserable.

“My time is over. _Strike_!” Draco shouted.

Bowen shook his head sadly. “You are my friend.”

“Then, as my friend, strike, please!” Draco implored him.

Bowen turned his back. “I can’t.”

Just then, Einon appeared from one of the courtyard entrances.

Harry gave Ron and Hermione another speaking glance and held up three fingers. When they nodded, he counted down to a closed fist and almost as one, they drew their wands and cast “ _Stupefy_!” at Draco. The dragon’s eyes opened wide in surprise before his head fell to the ground with a thump, unconscious.

Harry hurriedly used his penknife to remove the chains on most of Draco’s upper body, and Hermione levitated him by about a metre.

“Now, Bowen!” she shouted as she stunned Einon as well. “Cut the heart out and return it to Draco!”

The unconscious Einon put up no resistance, and within moments the heart was back in Draco’s chest. “Now we wait,” Hermione murmured as she carefully lowered Draco to the ground, “And hope Draco isn’t corrupted.”

The rest of the heavy chains were removed, Hermione cast as many protection charms as she knew on the area surrounding Draco, and a watch schedule was organised.

Hermione’s Muggle first aid training turned out quite useful in dressing the villagers’ injuries. She arranged a makeshift infirmary in a large room near the castle kitchens, which she presided over in a manner very much reminiscent of Madam Pomphrey. There, she finally used the pot she had bought earlier to boil copious amounts of water, and made good use of every drop of mature wine she could get her hands in treating the various wounds presented to her.  While there was little she could do for severed limbs aside from cleaning and bandaging the wounds, she _was_ successful in treating most of the villagers’ injuries – including resetting a few broken bones with magic while everyone else was asleep. She did insist on keeping those with severed limbs in her care until it became clear whether or not their wounds would become infected. Fortunately, such a situation was avoided. As she later confided to Harry, “I’m glad! I have got no idea how to dose someone with home-grown penicillin, and suppose I grew the toxic kind by accident? How would I even know the difference? I’m not a doctor.”

The following morning, after a few hours’ sleep, the village women, accompanied by Ron, Hermione and Harry, found the castle kitchens and set about raiding the pantry for a celebratory feast. Hermione opened one of the barrels in the kitchen, and her face promptly went through a series of rapid-fire emotions, the most noticeable of which was disbelief. “Potatoes?” she asked, “In Anglo-Saxon England?!”

“What’s wrong with potatoes?” Harry asked, confused.

“Oh, nothing much,” Hermione told him. “Only that they’re a New World plant and not supposed to make it to Britain for several centuries!”

“What about squashes?” Harry wanted to know. “I saw some in a wheelbarrow back in Kara’s village.” Hermione just gave him a look. “Those too, then?” He paused for a moment. “So I guess we’re _really_ not in Kansas anymore.”

“You reckon?” Ron asked, slightly sarcastic.

That evening the villagers were overjoyed to enjoy such delicacies as figs, meat seasoned with various imported spices of exotic origin, fine wheat bread, and venison, all of which had been denied them by Einon and his men. Even the Gryffindor teens enjoyed themselves, although, having been cautioned by Hermione, Ron and Harry avoided the dairy, meat and bread. “They don’t have fridges so the meat and cheese are probably at least partly rotten, the dairy is unpasteurised so it’s likely a haven for all sorts of unpleasant things, and the bread’s likely to contain lots of sand from the grindstone,” she told them. “None of which are exactly good for you.”

There was also much consumption of alcohol: beer, wine, cider and what the locals called ‘mead’, although it appeared to be more like honey beer than what Hermione’s father occasionally indulged in. Ron wanted to try some beer, but Hermione stared him down. “You’re underage,” she reminded him.

“Come on, Hermione,” Ron protested, “My parents are a thousand years away!”

“And you’re still about seven months shy of the Scottish public drinking age,” Hermione reminded him. “If you drink one drop, Ron Weasley, I’ll tell your mother all about it!”

Cowed, Ron sipped from his wooden goblet of magically condensed water.

Finally, just as Harry was about to relieve Bowen at dawn on the third day, Draco stirred, muttered something inaudible and roused. “Bowen? ...Harry? What happened?” he asked, blinking blearily.

“What do you remember?” Harry asked cautiously.

“Just getting hit by the spell you young ones cast,” Draco told him, confused. “Why can’t I feel Einon’s evil anymore?”

“Einon is dead,” Bowen told him. “I killed him after they knocked you out.”

“But my half was the life source,” Draco said, baffled.

“Yeah, well, about that,” Harry began.

“I cut the heart out of his chest,” Bowen told Draco calmly.

“Ah yes, well,” Draco said with a bit of a grimace, “That would do it.”


	5. Meginrat

A few hours after Draco’s awakening, Hermione decided that they needed to start work on finding a way to return to their own time. After practically interrogating Draco, who was unable to help her much, she grabbed Ron and Harry by their sleeves and dragged them to the nearest scribe table. “We need to write to Hogwarts,” she announced. “Let’s draft out what we want to say, and then get Brother Gilbert to address it properly: I really don’t know enough about letter writing etiquette in the Middle Ages.”

“ _You_?” Ron asked, incredulous. “You, Hermione Granger, the Bookworm of Gryffindor, don’t _know_ something?”

“Oh, be quiet, Ron,” Hermione said, pulling out writing materials. “Maybe we should write to Ravenclaw: she’s most likely to know how to get us home.” They spent the next hour or so poring over the sheet of parchment, trying to come up with a sane and sensible way of explaining their situation. Finally, when their first draft was done, Hermione went off in search of Brother Gilbert.

She returned two hours later, looking torn between frustration and satisfaction and holding a new roll of parchment. “Well, it took a bit of doing, but I got him to write the letter out in Old English. Here,” she added, handing him the parchment.

Harry accepted the letter, nodded at her and made his way out into the courtyard, where he came face-to-knee with Draco. The dragon took a few surprised sidesteps before turning to face him and saying, “Oh, hello Harry.”

“Hello, Draco,” Harry returned the greeting.

Hedwig chose that moment to reappear, circling above Harry’s head a couple of times before coming down to perch on his shoulder. “Hi, Hedwig,” Harry greeted her. Hedwig eyed Draco for a moment before hooting and starting to preen her feathers. “Feel up to taking a letter for me?” Harry asked, and Hedwig hooted again, lifting her head.. “Okay then.” At Draco’s curious look, Harry told him, “Wizards use owls for deliveries in the future: this is Hedwig, she’s mine. I’ve had her since I started Hogwarts.” He tied the letter to Hedwig’s leg, asked her to wait for a reply, watched as she swooped away in a vaguely northerly direction, and continued, “She was the first birthday present I can remember getting.”

Draco gave him a contemplative look before posing a question. “Who was the letter to, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh, one of the founders of Hogwarts, our school. She might know some way to get us home,” Harry explained. “Hermione had to get Brother Gilbert’s help with writing it: this translation spell doesn’t work on the written word, so we’d be writing in the wrong language if we did it ourselves. Besides, letter-writing is a lot less formal in the future so we didn’t know how to address Lady Ravenclaw: we might have called her the wrong thing by mistake.”

Two hours later, as a bemused Harry watched in silence, Hermione sought out Draco and all but begged him to teach her to read Old English. “There’s a whole library right here in the castle that I can’t read because so many of the books are in a language I don’t speak. The Latin I can work my way through, but not the Old English. Please?” Here she looked as pitiful as humanly possible. Draco stood no chance under this onslaught, and caved quickly. Hermione beamed, thanked him profusely, and all but dragged Harry into the lesson as well.

Draco, Harry discovered, was a very good, wonderfully patient teacher. During a lesson which lasted several hours, until it got too dark to see, Harry got a solid grasp of the runic letters, and started to sound out words which the spell then translated for him to write down in English. Hermione seemed to find the lesson somewhat easier than Harry did, perhaps due to her taking Ancient Runes at Hogwarts. She was already beginning to read one of the books from the library in earnest.

The next day, in the middle of another reading lesson, Harry noticed that several men, including Bowen, appeared to be searching for someone. “What is it?” he called.

“Have you seen Kara or Hermione?” Bowen asked.

“Not since breakfast,” Harry answered. “Why? Are they missing?”

“ _No-one’s_ seen them since this morning: I’m getting a bit concerned,” Bowen told him.

Harry was about to make a suggestion when an owl flew overhead, dropping a small roll of parchment at Bowen’s feet. “Maybe that letter’s from Hermione,” he commented instead.

Bowen unrolled the parchment and swore vehemently. Harry stood and moved to try and read over Bowen’s shoulder. His grasp of the written language was still shaky, so he asked Bowen to read it aloud. Bowen blinked and complied, “ _I have taken the women to my dungeon under the Long Hill. If you wish to see them alive, you will vacate Einon’s castle by sunset tomorrow._ It’s signed by someone calling himself Lord Meginrat.” Bowen scowled. “We need to go after them.”

“Right,” Harry agreed. “I’ll get Ron.” He ran off in search of the other young wizard.

_____

An hour later, Ron, Harry, Bowen and a handful of villagers were heading in a vaguely easterly direction, making their way to Meginrat’s hideout. After several kilometres of walking, Harry could see a high, rocky hill in the distance, on the other side of a green valley. Another hour passed, and finally, just as the sun was setting, they were at the foot of the hill which Bowen identified as the Long Hill.

It took only a few minutes to discover a partially hidden cave entrance, which seemed to lead down into the bowels of the hill. Harry glanced upward into the twilight, hearing wingbeats, and saw that Draco had decided to follow them. “I thought you might need some help getting the girls out,” Draco told them, landing on all fours. “I clearly can’t enter the cave, but anyone pursuing you when you exit should think twice about leaving the cave when faced with a dragon.”

Without further ado, Harry, Ron and the villagers followed Bowen into the tunnel, armed with torches, swords, a single battleaxe wielded by a villager named Oswin, and Harry and Ron’s lit wands. After descending for a few minutes, Harry began to feel cold and unhappy. As they reached the end of the tunnel and found themselves in a room with stone walls, the cold and negative feelings intensified. Harry heard a woman screaming, noticed the others were looking miserable, and three figures wearing tattered, hooded robes entered from another tunnel. “Dementors!” Ron gasped.

“ _Expecto patronum!_ ” Harry cast, and the brilliant, silvery stag erupted from his wand tip, driving the dementors back. He immediately felt better, and the others appeared much improved as well.

“ _Incendio!_ ” Ron shouted, directing his wand at the dementors’ robes, which burst into flame. The combination of the flames and patronus appeared to be too much for the dementors, who dissolved into shadows and black mist. “What the bloody hell just happened?” Ron wondered.

“No idea,” Harry responded.

“What’s a dementor?” Bowen asked.

“It’s... er... a kind of demon, I s’pose you could call it,” Harry explained. “They suck all the happiness out of a room, leaving only negative feelings, and if you let them get too close they’ll try and suck your soul out through your mouth. According to my teachers, the only way to drive them off is the patronus charm – that’s what I just did – which creates a sort of protector.”

“I didn’t see anything,” Hewe spoke up, to the nods of the other villagers.

“You didn’t see the figures in torn, black robes?” Bowen asked.

Harry and Ron exchanged glances. _I guess that means Bowen’s a wizard_ , Harry thought.

A few moments passed before they all moved on, in the direction the dementors had come from. Several twisting and turning tunnels later, they found themselves in a fairly large room. To their left, on the other side of a wide, seemingly bottomless chasm, was a sconce lit with a strange, purple flame. Straight ahead, Harry could see another sconce, this one unlit, to the right of a door which was blocked with iron bars. “I reckon we’re supposed to get some of that fire to the unlit torch,” he commented. “Any ideas?” he asked Ron.

“There,” Ron said, pointing at a long-extinguished handheld torch lying on the floor near the purple flame. “ _Wingardium leviosa_ ,” he cast on it, lifting it up to catch the purple fire before directing it toward the unlit sconce by the door. The sconce caught, and everyone made for the newly-unbarred door. Harry, who was in the lead, had just enough time to think, _This was almost too easy_... before he felt part of the floor give way a little. Less than a second later he heard a hollow _thunk_ followed by a _thwip_ , and felt a stinging pain in his right shoulder before blacking out.

When he awoke, anytime between a few minutes and several hours later, Harry found himself in a dimly-lit stone dungeon, surrounded by the others. He looked around, noting the thick iron bars blocking the cell off from the corridor outside and the damp walls which had several different colours of mildew growing on them. The smell in the dungeon was foul: clearly Meginrat had no time for cleaning. Bowen was awake, but Ron and the villagers were still out cold. “What happened?” Harry asked.

“We got caught by some sort of booby-trap,” Bowen told him turning to look at him. “Think you can open that door?” he asked, nodding at the iron bars.

“Maybe,” said Harry. He got out his wand – evidently no-one had thought about searching them – and cast, “ _Alohomora._ ” Nothing happened. “ _Lumos_ ,” he tried. Still nothing. “I think the cell’s somehow magic-proof.”

Harry must have dozed off for a while again because the next thing he knew, a very amused Kara and Hermione were standing outside the open cell door. “I’m going to tell Bill on you,” Hermione told Ron with a slightly smug look. “The great curse-breaker’s brother failed to recognise a booby-trap when he saw it!”

“Sod off!” Ron responded. “And weren’t you s’posed to be locked up too?”

“Let’s just get out of here,” Harry said, stepping between them.

They made their way out of the dungeon and down another long stone corridor, until finally they found themselves in another large room. As they filed in, Harry saw movement at the top of a natural stone pillar. It was a large man, tall and burly, clad in eye-catchingly bright red robes.

The man laughed evilly, before starting to gloat.  “I am Lord Meginrat!” he shouted, making his booming voice bounce off the cave walls. “Behold my master plan!” Meginrat laughed evilly, pointed at a painted circle on the cave floor with an icon in its centre and continued, “I shall summon up an army of demons from Hell using this summoning circle, and use my demon horde to take over the world!” He followed it up with more, almost overdone evil laughter.

“Why is it that dark lords never read the Evil Overlord List?” Hermione wondered rhetorically.

“Evil Overlord List?” Ron asked. Harry looked interested too, never having heard of such a thing.

“Nevermind,” Hermione told them both, “It’s a Muggle thing my dad showed me.”

Meanwhile, Meginrat had begun his ritual, and was in the middle of a long chant when Oswin the villager calmly hefted his battleaxe and threw it at the idol at the centre of the casting circle. The idol shattered. It took Meginrat a moment to notice this fact, but when he did, he reacted badly. “ _NOOOOOOOOO!_ You vile peasant, you’ve ruined all of my carefully-laid plans!” he cried.

Harry thought the sorcerer was being quite melodramatic. _I don’t know whether I should be relieved or disappointed that Voldemort is nothing like him..._ he mused. An instant later he was diving for cover, avoiding the spells Meginrat was shooting off indiscriminately, and sending a few of his own at the sorcerer. “ _Reducto!_ ” he shouted, while Ron simultaneously cast the full-body bind. Harry’s spell hit a split second after Ron’s, hitting Meginrat straight in the chest.

Meginrat staggered and fell over backwards, already dead. The ceiling promptly started to make ominous noises, and some dust fell to the floor.

“Let’s get out of here!” Harry called.

Hermione led the way through the seemingly endless tunnels with Harry somewhere in the middle of the group and Ron bringing up the rear. Just as the group entered a stone room which Harry recognised as the last room before the exit, everyone came to an abrupt halt. Harry caught a glimpse of a large man standing near the tunnel leading outside. The next thing Harry knew, Bowen had cried out in pain and collapsed, the shaft of an arrow protruding from his chest. Hermione quickly fired off a series of hexes, felling the large man, before moving to check on Bowen.

“How bad is it, Hermione?” Harry asked.

“Bad,” she told him, “That’s all I know. We really shouldn’t move him, with all the internal damage, but it’s not exactly as if we have a choice...” She took a deep, steadying breath and cast “ _Mobilicorpus_. Let’s hurry.” She directed Bowen’s thankfully unconscious, floating body out of the tunnel, climbed over the hulk of an enemy and made her way out. The others quickly followed suit.

By the time Harry made it outside, Hermione was already kneeling over Bowen in the light of the slowly setting sun, taking a closer look at the damage. Bowen was making ominous gurgling noises, and Hermione muttered, “Oh no, I think it pierced both his lung and heart.” She wrung her hands. “I don’t think I can fix this, I’m not a mediwitch. If I take the arrow out, he’s going to bleed to death.”

“What about that healing spell?” Harry asked. “If all three of us cast it...” He was interrupted by Draco’s sudden appearance over the Long Hill, which promptly collapsed noisily.

“What happened?” Draco asked, coming down with a thump. Harry moved a bit to his right and turned to face the dragon. “Oh, Bowen,” Draco sighed.

“We can’t fix it,” Hermione told him, “We don’t know enough. I’m sorry,” she added, looking crushed.

“Pull the arrow out when I tell you to, Harry,” Draco instructed. “Ron, give me a sword.”

What followed, Harry would later reflect, was incredible. Draco peeled back one of the scales over his heart and used the sword Ron brought him to cut into his own flesh, reached in and drew out what appeared to be a handful of light. “Half my heart to make you whole. Its strength to purify your weakness.” Draco nodded at Harry, who pulled out the arrow. Draco lowered the light toward Bowen’s wound, and Harry watched in complete and utter awe as the light disappeared into Bowen’s chest. The wounded knight drew a deep breath, his lung miraculously healed.

As the three of them made their way back to the castle the next morning, Harry, Ron and Hermione compared notes on their experiences in Meginrat’s dungeon. “He didn’t bother putting us in any kind of magic-proof cell,” Hermione told the boys. “Maybe he didn’t think either of us had magic. I just cast the unlocking charm and the lock popped right open. We got all the way out via another exit before running into Draco, who told us you’d gone to get us. I notice you made it two rooms in before falling for that trap round the front. What was in the first room? It was empty when we got there,” she asked.

“Dementors,” Harry answered.

“Right. Anyway, after the dart trap, there was a sphinx – she gave us the mankind riddle to solve – and a room full of devil’s snare. It was almost absurdly easy, though a group of Muggles might have had a bit more trouble. After that, it was just a matter of summoning the keys to your cell from a passing guard’s belt,” Hermione finished.

_____

 

”Bowen’s got magic,” Harry told Hermione two days later, over breakfast. “He could see the dementors; Hewe and the others couldn’t.”

“Really?” Hermione asked. “Maybe we should go and tell him that.”

Harry grinned mischievously and said, “I can’t wait to see the look on his face.”

When they found Bowen alone in the castle library, the first thing out of Harry’s mouth was, “You’re a wizard, Bowen.”

Bowen dropped the book he was holding with a thump, looking poleaxed. “What?”

“You can only see dementors if you have magic,” Hermione explained. “Were either of your parents magical?” she asked.

“No,” Bowen answered simply, still confused.

“Right,” Harry told him, “You’re what we call a Muggleborn, a witch or wizard born to non-magical people. I’m a halfblood,” he continued, “My mum was a Muggleborn, and so’s Hermione. Ron’s a pureblood, since just about everybody in his family has magic. D’you have any siblings?”

“I did,” Bowen answered, “But none of them made it past their first year.”

“That explains why no-one even tried to teach you,” Hermione told him. “Witches or wizards looking for an apprentice wouldn’t pick an only child. You’re a bit old to start learning magic,” she continued, “But maybe we can get you a wand anyway, and at least teach you the basics.”

There was a flutter of wings, and Harry turned to face the window. “Hedwig!” he said, only vaguely surprised, as she landed on his shoulder. “Did you get an answer, girl?”

Hedwig hooted and held up a leg, onto which a roll of parchment had been attached. Harry swiftly extracted and unrolled the parchment. Hermione moved to read over his shoulder. “Lady Ravenclaw says she’s coming here tomorrow, to discuss her findings.” Hermione paraphrased, turning to Bowen. “Maybe we can ask her about getting you a wand. Depending on the spell she found we might not be here for long, but... If nothing else, she can give you the name of a magical tutor...” She looked ready to continue in this vein, but was interrupted by Bowen.

“Who’s Lady Ravenclaw?” he asked, holding up a hand.

“Rowena Ravenclaw’s one of the founders of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” Harry explained. “That’s the school _we_ go to. We were actually on our way there when we ended up here.” He paused for breath. “Ravenclaw’s well known for being very wise and knowledgeable, so _she_ , if anybody, would know how to get us back home. It’s complicated,” he deflected, noticing Bowen’s curious look.

Hermione spent the rest of the day fretting over what Lady Ravenclaw had found, driving Harry and Ron to distraction with her endless ‘what ifs’. “Suppose she didn’t find anything! What if we never get home? Or what if we arrive decades after we left?!”

Harry seriously contemplated stunning her, just to get some peace and quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hermione dragging Harry into the reading lesson... Don’t ask me where that came from. It just popped into my head and refused to leave me alone until I wrote it down.
> 
> And yes, Meginrat’s monologue was deliberately cliché.


	6. The Beginning of the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ravenclaw arrives and the Gryffindors return to the future.

Harry awoke bright and early the next morning, still somewhat tired but unable to sleep anymore for nerves. He got out of bed and made his way out into the courtyard, where Draco was sprawled out on the cool flagstones, clearly having just woken up as well.  
  
After exchanging morning greetings, Draco gave Harry an unreadable look. “Tell me, why would you want to return to the future? It doesn’t sound very pleasant, from what you’ve told me so far.”  
  
Harry hesitated, unsure of how to answer. “Er... I don’t really know how to explain it – I just have this feeling I have to go back. There’s something important I have to do, I just don’t know what.” He frowned, puzzled.  
  
“Perhaps it has something to do with that dark lord you mentioned, what was his name?” Draco suggested.  
  
“Voldemort,” Harry supplied.  
  
“Yes, him. Tell me everything you can about your history with him,” Draco requested.  
  
So Harry did, starting with that Halloween night when he was a baby. He talked for a good half-hour, Draco prompting him with questions and comments. The old dragon was horrified on hearing about how Harry had been left alone on the Dursley’s doorstep, and Harry was quick to assure him that there were no large, wild predators roaming the countryside in the future. Harry made no mention of the possibility of there being wolves and such in the zoo, as he was unsure of the likelihood of Draco being familiar with the concept of zoological gardens.  
  
Somewhere during an explanation of his third year, Bowen joined the conversation. “Hermione mentioned something about Einon looking like your teacher. Who is he?” the knight wanted to know.  
  
“He’s the teacher I‘ve just been talking about: it’s so strange to have someone wearing his face be so... evil. Professor Lupin is one of the nicest, kindest people I’ve ever met,” Harry explained.  
  
Perhaps an hour later Harry paused mid-explanation of the Third Task and glanced around. While he could not see anything, there was a strange, faint whistling, clanking sound coming from somewhere outside the castle gates. He hesitated for a moment, shifting his weight from foot to foot, before saying “Excuse me,” to Draco and climbing a nearby staircase to reach the top of the wall by the gate, which was manned by two somewhat drowsy villagers: an old woman and a young man. There was nothing visible on the ground, but after a moment Harry shifted his gaze upwards and noticed a dark, boxy shape in midair perhaps a hundred yards away.  
  
The younger lookout joined him on after a moment, having noticed his careful scrutiny of something outside the castle walls. “What’s that?” the man asked.  
  
“...That’s someone we’ve been expecting,” Harry told him, seeing the Hogwarts crest emblazoned on the leather covering the flying, horseless carriage which appeared to be coming in for a landing. A carriage which, although much less impressive and advanced than the ones Harry was used to, was still faintly reminiscent of the carriages that older Hogwarts students would take from Hogsmeade station at the start of every school term in the future. “Open the gate!” he called, “That’s an ally!”  
  
With that, Harry made his way back to ground level just in time to see the carriage pull in through the gate and into the courtyard. He pulled out his wand and quickly cast, “ _Sonorus._ ” Doing his best ‘public announcement’ imitation, he continued, “Hermione, Ron, please come to the courtyard. _Quietus_.” He then trotted over to the carriage and waited as a tall, dark-haired lady in black robes stepped out. “Lady Ravenclaw, I presume? I’m Harry Potter,” he addressed her, bowing. Upon seeing his friends striding out into the courtyard, shortly followed by Bowen appearing from the other side of the courtyard, Harry introduced them as well. “These are my friends Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, and this is Sir Bowen.”  
  
“Greetings, I am Rowena Raven’s Claw,” she responded.  
  
 _Translation mistake?_ Harry wondered. While Hermione stepped forward to discuss something with Lady Ravenclaw, Harry glanced around the courtyard and noticed that Draco was nowhere to be seen. “Where’s Draco?” he asked Ron in an undertone.  
  
“He was using that camouflage trick of his when we came out, so Hermione Disillusioned him,” Ron told him. “I reckon he didn’t want the professor seeing him.”  
  
 _And who can blame him?_ Harry thought. _She’d probably just think he’s a dumb, dangerous animal!_ And with that he spoke loud enough for everyone to hear, “Why don’t we go someplace a bit more comfortable? We could use the dining hall, for instance.”  
  
As soon as everyone was indoors, with Harry bringing up the rear, Harry heard Draco take off and then land somewhere nearby. _Good,_ he thought, _Less chance of anybody bumping into him while he’s Disillusioned._  
  
“I believe I have found you a way home,” Ravenclaw told them, spreading a few sheets of parchment out on the dining table they sat around. “The ritual is rather complex, but requires no unusual or rare materials. I believe I can perform it at midday tomorrow.”  
  
“That’s wonderful news, Professor!” Hermione gushed. A sudden, mostly unrelated thought occurred to her. “Oh, Professor,” she told Ravenclaw, “There’s been a bit of a new development since we wrote to you. Bowen has magic: he can see Dementors. Would you happen to know anyone who might be willing to tutor him?”  
  
“I might know a few people,” Ravenclaw told her. “I shall have to send out a few letters of inquiry.”  
  
Harry pulled out some writing implements of his own. “That reminds me, would you mind writing your name for me, please, Professor? I’d like to have something to show the Headmaster back home.”  
  
Lady Ravenclaw obliged him, signing her name with a flourish. “Thank you, Professor,” Harry said, looking at her signature in barely-hidden awe.  
  


* * *

  
  
Half an hour later found the Gryffindor trio outside the castle walls looking for Draco. “There,” Ron said, pointing to an apparent pile of rocks near the wall, west of the main gate. Draco lifted his head as they approached, but stayed mostly camouflaged.  
  
“Lady Ravenclaw says she can send us home tomorrow,” Harry told him without further ado. “Maybe we can come up with a way for you to see us off, without Ravenclaw seeing you?”  
  
For the next couple of hours, Draco and the Gryffindors huddled together and bounced various ideas and half-formed plans back and forth. When they finally broke for lunch, Hermione had a thoughtful look on her face and kept muttering something under her breath.  
  
The next morning, while the boys kept Ravenclaw’s attention away from the windows, Hermione slipped out the gate to the previous day’s location. She swiftly cast the Disillusionment charm once again, and followed it up with her strongest feather-weight charm. Once that was done, Draco gave her an approving smile and flew up above the castle before landing on the roof of the keep, where he could perch in relative comfort, and watch as the ritual was performed.  
  
Ravenclaw turned to Bowen immediately after finishing the ritual, as Harry felt himself being pulled away. “And you can tell that dragon he needn’t hide from me.”  
  
Bowen, Ron, Hermione and Harry all gaped at her in wide-eyed, open-mouthed shock.  
  
“I knew one of his kind once, long ago,” Ravenclaw told them with a slight smile, “We were friends.”  
  
That was the last Harry knew of that time and place.  
  
The next thing he _did_ know, they were standing in the middle of a quiet, fairly modern street somewhere. Harry took a discreet look around and saw that there was a sign hanging by the entrance to a nearby driveway, which was advertising the Eastfield Lodge Bed  & Breakfast.  
  
 “I think we’d better owl Dumbledore and ask for help getting back to Hogwarts... Let’s go in there,” Harry suggested, pointing at the sign. “They can tell us exactly where we are so we know what to tell Dumbledore about our location. I wonder what the date is?” He turned to Hedwig. “You’d better wait for us in that tree, Hedwig,” he told her.  
  
Hedwig hooted and flew over to a fairly low branch.  
  
Harry led the way into the hotel. Five minutes and a somewhat awkward conversation later, they knew they were in a place called Leyburn, in Yorkshire, and that it was September 19th. They had been gone for almost three weeks.  
  
“Could I please borrow a pen and some paper?” Harry asked the helpful, female receptionist. “And could my friend use your phone?” he added, indicating Hermione.  
  
While Hermione called her parents to reassure them that she was still in the realm of the living, and that she was _fine_ , no need to worry about her, Harry penned a quick note to Dumbledore and slipped out to give it to Hedwig. On his way out, Harry glanced at the clock on the wall: one in the afternoon.  
  
Three hours later, as the helpful receptionist was replaced by a grave-looking middle-aged man, the front door opened and what seemed to be Einon’s face appeared on the other side. Harry’s first instinct was to draw his wand and hex him into oblivion, but managed to ignore it by concentrating on the fact that Einon was dead, and that this was _Remus_.  
  
“Come on, you three,” Remus told them. Harry, Ron and Hermione followed him outside. As soon as the door closed behind them, Harry had his wand out and directed at Remus. “How do you close the map?” he almost demanded.  
  
“Mischief managed,” Remus – and it was indeed Remus – answered. Harry put his wand away and grabbed him in a swift hug.  
  
“You have no idea how good it is to see you, Moony,” Harry told him. “You really won’t believe what happened to us!”  
  
“Tell me all about it when we get to Hogwarts,” Remus answered. “Speaking of which,” he added, pulling out an old, striped sock, “Touch the portkey, and we’ll be on our way.” Harry grimaced in distaste but did as Remus had requested, followed almost immediately by Ron and Hermione.  
  
Moments later they were in Dumbledore’s office, who greeted them with, “Ah, our lost lambs return! Have a seat, ” he added, indicating the long, padded bench in front of his desk. “And perhaps you could tell us where you have been?  
  
“Well, Professor, it’s like this,” Harry began, telling the bulk of the tale with occasional input from Hermione and Ron. It took the better part of an hour, with quite an explosive reaction from Remus when Harry described Einon and his evil.  
  
Finally, as his story wound down to a close, Harry pulled out the signed piece of parchment and took another look at it before handing it over to Dumbledore. Where, before, the name had appeared as Rowena Raven’s Claw, now it was something like ‘ _Hrōdwynn Cráweclawu_ ’, which was presumably the way her name would be written in Old English.  
  
“Could I possibly keep a copy of that, please, Professor?” Harry asked. “I’d like to have something to remember this adventure by, and it’s not every day you get a founder’s autograph...”  
  
Ron and Hermione promptly chimed in their own, identical requests.  
  
Dumbledore smiled and cast some sort of copying spell on the parchment, tucked the original away in his desk and handed the Gryffindor students their requested copies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re familiar with Old English grammar and find yourself wincing too badly, please do let me know the correct way of writing Ravenclaw’s original name...


	7. Back to School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now back at Hogwarts, Harry Ron and Hermione start work on finding out how to defeat Voldemort.

The three of them spent the first couple of weeks back in the future playing catch-up in their classes, which fortunately did not take as long as Hermione had feared. This was helped along considerably by Umbridge's lack of teaching skill.  
  
Harry’s temper snapped during a particularly frustrating double lesson with Umbridge, which earned him a detention to be served that night. In spite of the unpleasant start to the day Harry and Hermione managed, with minimal persuasion and to their great relief, to acquire from Professor Dumbledore a permission slip which would be valid for the entire school year for the Restricted Section.  
  
Harry found himself dragged to Madam Pince’s desk by an eager Hermione, who was practically bouncing on her toes as she handed the note to the exceedingly suspicious librarian. Madam Pince practically examined the note under a microscope, turning it this way and that and clearly hoping it was a forgery, but eventually she had to give up and allow the two of them entry.  
  
Hermione immediately dove into the Charms section while Harry headed for the shelves dedicated to magical objects. Every time he found a reference to an interesting or potentially useful item, he made a note of the book title and the page number on which it could be found. He paused to read through a chapter dedicated to two-way mirrors, and thought, _Something like this might be useful when we’re planning anti-Voldemort tactics! Especially if we could link more than two mirrors together._  
  
Eventually the sun set and the time of Harry’s detention arrived. He warily made his way to Umbridge’s office and knocked. After a moment, her sickly sweet voice invited him in. When he entered, Umbridge handed him an evil-looking long, black quill with an unusually sharp point.  
  
“I want you to write, _I must not tell lies_ ,” she told him quietly, with a look in her eyes that was very reminiscent of Einon’s.  
  
“Er, Professor, I don’t have any ink,” Harry said, mystified.  
  
“Oh, you shan’t need it: this is a very _special_ quill,” Umbridge told him with a smirk.  
  
Still confused and now wary, Harry sat down on the other side of her desk and touched the quill to the sheet of parchment already waiting for him. At the very first stroke in the ‘I’ he gasped. It felt like someone was slashing his hand open with a scalpel, and blood welled up in the cut. He glanced at Umbridge, who had a disturbingly please smirk on her face, and thought better of complaining. When he looked back down at the page, Harry noticed the blood forming the vertical stroke of the ‘I’. _This is_ not _going to be fun!_ he thought, taking a deep breath.  
  
For the next torturous hour he wrote that sentence over and over, his cut hand healing only to be sliced open again. Finally Umbridge called a halt and told him to present his hand. On seeing it, she looked vaguely disappointed, but dismissed him.  
  
Harry managed to leave the room in a controlled manner, but as soon as he was sure he was out of earshot he ran for it, clutching his still-throbbing, if apparently unblemished, hand. Eventually he found himself in the Entrance Hall, with the front door practically beckoning him. With barely a thought, Harry stepped out and made for a nice dark spot away from the castle lights.  
  
He sat down on the grass somewhere between the castle and Hagrid’s hut, and drew his knees up. After a few minutes something made him look up, and he saw…  
  
 _Stars!_ Harry realised. _The Dragon’s brighter than usual._ Almost immediately he felt better and his hand seemed to throb less and less, until finally he realised it no longer hurt at all. The pain had been replaced by a feeling of peace and safety, almost as strong as the tranquillity he had felt upon waking under Draco’s wing in Avalon.  
  
Eventually Harry realised it was dinner time and picked himself up. A final glance at the Dragon left him with a powerful feeling of encouragement, almost a compulsion, to tell McGonagall or Dumbledore about his detention, and especially Umbridge’s sadistic behaviour.  
  
He tracked McGonagall down after dinner, following her into her office. “Professor,” he started, “I just finished detention with Professor Umbridge.” He felt like spitting out the name but managed to refrain. “Do you know what that entailed?”  
  
“No, Potter, but I’m sure you’ll enlighten me,” McGonagall responded.  
  
“She has this long, thin, black quill which she made me use to write lines. Every time I used it, it cut the sentence into my hand and then healed it over. It used my blood for ink,” he added.  
  
McGonagall exploded. “ _What!?_ She’s using a Blood Quill on students? Come with me, Potter. We need to take this to Professor Dumbledore!”  
  
Encouraged by Harry reporting Umbridge’s detention methods, several other students, including a few first years, came forward with their own stories. Soon the parents also heard about it, and within two days, Umbridge was arrested and Fudge was under close scrutiny by the majority of the parents of Hogwarts students.  
  
On the evening after Umbridge’s arrest Harry once again made his way outside to watch the stars. The Dragon still shone brightly, and Harry only felt slightly silly as he bowed to the constellation and murmured, “Thank you.” One of the stars in the Dragon’s head twinkled.  
  
Several months later, Voldemort started sending Harry visions of the Department of Mysteries, which he mostly ignored. When those visions suddenly included images of Sirius being tortured, Harry dug out the mirror Sirius had given him a few months before.  
  
“Sirius?” he asked. “Are you there?”  
  
After a moment Sirius’s face appeared in the mirror. “Right here, pup. What’s wrong?”  
  
“Voldemort’s trying to get me to go to the Department of Mysteries by making me think you’re there and in trouble. I think there’s something there he wants,” Harry told him.  
  
“Go let Dumbledore or McGonagall know,” Sirius advised him.  
  
“Alright,” Harry acquiesced, “But please don’t go anywhere.”  
  
“I won’t,” Sirius promised him.  
  
Harry stuffed the mirror in his pocket and went off in search of the aforementioned members of staff.  
  
The next morning, the arrival of the post owls was shortly followed by a great deal of surprised shouting. Harry joined several of his classmates in reading over the shoulder of the nearest person with a subscription to the _Daily Prophet_. The headline read:  
  
 **He Who Must Not Be Named Returns**  
  
There was also a smaller headline at the bottom of the front page:  
  
 **Peter Pettigrew Alive – Sirius Black Cleared Of All Charges**  
  
Harry was stunned. Even as Ron, Hermione and Ginny mobbed him, shouting and laughing, he just stood there in awe. “Read that one aloud!” Ron told Neville, whose paper they were standing over.  
  
“Yesterday afternoon Aurors were stunned to find Peter Pettigrew, who was thought dead after the events of October 31st, 1981, alive and well and serving He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Pettigrew, who upon discovery attempted to escape by transforming into a rat, was interrogated under Veritaserum and revealed a shocking truth: it was he, not Sirius Black, who was the Potters’ Secret Keeper while they lived under Fidelius, and it was he who told the Dark Lord where to find Harry Potter and his parents, James and Lily Potter. Director of Magical Law Enforcement, Amelia Bones, apologised publicly for this miscarriage of justice and has cleared Black of all charges,” Neville read. “Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge has made an announcement regarding this turn of events to the Wizengamot, making Black’s innocence internationally known.”  
  
Just then, Professor McGonagall strode up to the Gryffindor table. “Mr Potter, Professor Dumbledore would like to see you in his office after breakfast,” she told Harry.  
  
“Yes, Professor,” said Harry.  
  
By some miracle, when the conversation in Dumbledore’s office involved the revelation that Harry was destined to kill Voldemort or die trying, Harry managed to keep control of his temper and avoid shouting. The fact that he had, in this reality, avoided watching Sirius die might possibly have had something to do with it.  


* * *

  
  
One year to the day from their return to the future, Harry started awake and was out of bed like a shot. He barely paused to pull his uniform on before making a beeline through the castle to Dumbledore’s office. The gargoyle only delayed him for a moment, and soon he was skidding to a halt in front of Dumbledore’s desk. “I just had another dream about Voldemort!” he gasped.  
  
“Please have a seat, my boy,” Dumbledore told him, “And tell me everything.”  
  
Harry did as he had been asked. “Sir,” he added after a moment’s pause, “Now that we know what to look for, could Hermione and I have another permission slip for the Restricted Section? I think I might’ve seen a reference to horcruxes in one of the Old English books.”  
  
“Of course,” Dumbledore acquiesced. “I trust you will not misuse it.”  
  
On his way back to the dorms Harry ran into Hermione, who had clearly been looking for him. “Ron said you ran out like something was chasing you,” Hermione commented on seeing him. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“We need to go back to the library,” Harry told her. “I had a dream last night – I think I have an idea of how to interfere with Voldemort’s plans.”  
  
Once in the Restricted Section, after having returned to the dorms for his research notes, Harry cast “ _Muffliato!_ I don’t want anybody hearing anything,” he explained. “I had a dream about Voldemort and heard his thoughts. He was thinking about something called a horcrux, and I think I remember seeing something about those in here, last year.”  
  
After perusing the Objects shelf for a moment Harry pulled down a few of the books mentioned in his notes. Behind one of them, at the very back of the shelf, he found one entitled ‘A History of Horcruxes’, written in Old English. “Hah!” he exclaimed. “This might just be it!” That one was also added to the stack.  
  
Just before Christmas, while Harry, Hermione, the Weasleys, and various Order members were at Number Twelve, that Harry noticed a sign on one of the upstairs bedroom doors:  
  
Do Not Enter  
Without the Express Permission of  
Regulus Arcturus Black  
  
After staring at it for a long moment, Harry wondered, _Could that be RAB? And should I ask Sirius, or Kreacher?_ He thought for another moment and then went to hunt down Hermione and Ron. “I think I’ve found RAB!” he told them after finding them in his and Ron’s room. “Regulus Black’s initials match! _Kreacher!_ ” he called.  
  
The mad elf popped in, resolutely saying nothing.  
  
“Kreacher, do you know anything about Regulus Black stealing a locket belonging to Voldemort from a cave by the sea?” Harry asked him.  
  
Kreacher stared at Harry for a long moment and then threw back his head and wailed, a long, heartbroken sound. “Oh, the locket, Master Regulus’s locket, Kreacher failed his orders!” He started banging his head on the nearest solid object, which was the small table on the landing.  
  
“Kreacher, stop!” Harry told him. “What orders? Tell me!” he ordered the elf.  
  
And the entire story came out, amidst gasps for air and the occasional wail.  
  
“Is that the locket in the kitchen cupboard?” Hermione asked.  
  
Kreacher wailed again and popped away.  
  
Harry exchanged glances with Ron and Hermione, and then trooped down to the kitchen. Fortunately Mrs Weasley was not in the kitchen and there was no-one to keep them from removing the locket from the cupboard.  
  
“We’d better get this to Dumbledore,” Harry told the others.  
  
“I think he’s coming later today,” Hermione mused. “We’ll have to try and catch him alone then.”  
  
That evening Dumbledore was flabbergasted to be presented with Slytherin’s locket, and predictably asked, “How did you find it?”  
  
“RAB was Regulus Black, and Kreacher knew where it was: he put it in the kitchen cupboard,” Harry told him.  
  
Upon returning to Hogwarts in January and having already destroyed the locket, Harry made a beeline for the library. _Maybe there’s some sort of summoning spell or locator that could help in finding the horcruxes,_ he mused. Once again, he consulted the Restricted Section, paying extra close attention to any books written in Old English.  
  
Approximately an hour of searching yielded a fairly simple location spell, which Harry decided to try out. “Ábeþece horcrux!” he cast.  
  
The spell led him to the corridor outside the Room of Requirement. _I really need to find that horcrux,_ he thought, pacing the length of the corridor. When the door failed to appear, Harry changed tactics. _I need the room of lost, forgotten or hidden items._  
  
The door materialised. _Good._ Harry entered the room and recast the spell, which indicated something further in. After about five minutes of weaving between stacks of ancient textbooks, piles of clothing and mountains of broken potion phials, Harry finally came across a bust with a silver crown-like object perched on its head. His wand pointed directly at the crown, which Harry picked up and stuffed in his pocket. _I’d better get this to Dumbledore_ , he thought.  
  
One cut with the sword of Gryffindor later, Ravenclaw’s diadem – for that was what it was – was a pile of scrap metal.  


* * *

  
  
“He might have hidden a horcrux at the orphanage,” Hermione mused. “There’s always the Purloined Letter principle.” When Harry, Ron and Dumbledore all looked at her blankly, she explained, “Hiding something in plain sight. If it’s obvious enough, nobody would think to look there _because_ it’s so obvious.”  
  
The next day was a Saturday, and Harry, Ron and Hermione met Dumbledore in his office. “This is a Portkey,” Dumbledore told them, holding up a blank sheet of yellowed paper. “Touch it and we may be on our way.”  
  
Once they were all in contact with the Portkey Dumbledore activated it and they found themselves at the gates of a square building surrounded by high railings, suspiciously unchanged from the way it had been decades previous. Dumbledore looked at it for a moment and said, “I believe it is enchanted to be invisible to Muggles.”  
  
Harry drew his wand and cast once again: “Ábeþece horcrux!” His wand pointed at the orphanage. “Guess you were right, Hermione.”  
  
The horcrux turned out to be hidden in a small cupboard in room 27, which Dumbledore identified as having been Tom Riddle’s room. “And I think that might be Helga Hufflepuff’s Cup.” He drew Gryffindor's sword and handed it to Harry.  
  
“No, I think Hermione should do the honours,” Harry deflected, passing the sword to her.  
  
Hermione swung the sword down on the Cup, which was cleaved in two with a terrible shriek. “Good riddance,” Hermione commented.  
“How many horcruxes do you think there are left?” Ron asked.  
  
“Let’s try the spell again,” Hermione suggested. Harry cast it, and only received one indication, in the direction of Little Hangleton.  
  
“Does this mean there’s only one?” Harry wondered.  
  
No-one had an answer, and they left shortly after.  
  
The next few months passed relatively uneventfully, but at breakfast on May Day, Snape burst into the Great Hall and headed straight for Dumbledore. No-one heard exactly what he said, but after a moment Dumbledore stood. “Your attention, please. We have just received word that Lord Voldemort is planning an attack on Hogwarts and is already approaching the castle. Prefects, please escort everyone below sixth year to their dormitories. Anyone sixth year and up who wish to assist with the defence of the castle may do so.”  
  
The lower years left the Great Hall in record time, and after about ten minutes Dumbledore cast something. Harry assumed he was activating whatever protections existed for the dorms. He also cast a Patronus and instructed it to inform the Order of the impending attack.  
  
Later, when Voldemort and his Death Eaters arrived, they were met by the entire Hogwarts staff, virtually everyone in sixth and seventh year who was not a Death Eater, and the full complement of Order members. Harry surreptitiously cast the locator charm. His wand pointed straight at Nagini, who was riding on Tom’s shoulders like a demented boa.  
  
Voldemort directed Nagini to start killing students, and Dumbledore stepped right up to him. “As the Muggles say, only over my dead body, Tom,” he told his old student.  
  
While Voldemort was distracted, Harry, Ron and Hermione chased after the snake. “This one’s mine!” Ron announced.  
  
Harry nodded and handed over the Sword of Gryffindor. “Have at it, mate!”  
  
Ron neatly beheaded the snake, and Harry cast the charm again. This time, the wand just spun in endless circles. “Guess that means he’s out of horcruxes,” Harry commented and turned around to look for Voldemort.  
  
He saw the Head Death Eater cast the Killing Curse at Dumbledore, who crumpled in a boneless heap. “No!” Harry shouted. He ran forward to engage Voldemort in a duel, which predictably resulted in Priori Incantatem.  
  
While Harry and Voldemort were otherwise occupied, Neville crept up behind Voldemort and caught him in the back with a Blasting Curse. Voldemort joined Dumbledore on the ground, and Harry yelled, “Ron! I need the sword!”  
  
Ron ran over as quickly as possible, dodging hexes, but just after he handed Harry the sword he was caught by a badly aimed tripping jinx and fell, hitting his head.  
  
Harry spun and promptly stabbed Voldemort in the chest, and then beheaded him for good measure.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took so long! Real life and the dreaded Writer’s Block interfered, and breaking the thumb of my mouse-hand certainly didn’t help.
> 
> It should be just the epilogue now, and that’s already half done. ‘Course, having said that… *knock on wood*


End file.
